s8nSO['B:j13^  JLO: 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

From  the  collection  of 
Julius  Doerner,  Chicago 
Purchased,  1918. 

813 

K>56 


/ 


KATE  SINCLAIR; 

’  ,  OR, 

HOME  IS  HOME. 

'21  UDomcstic  iJalc 

OP  COTTAGE  -LlPisl. 


CINCINNATI,  OHIO: 

A.  A.  KELLEY,  PUBLISHER, 
No.  28  WEST  FOURTH  STREET. 

1861 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  CongreBs,  In  the  year  1858, 

By  A.  A.  KELLEY, 

lo  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New- York. 


2  7  yU)-^  -Z  1  o<^ 


?12. 

K' 


KATE  SINCLAIIH 

OR, 

H  O  M  ji:  IS  HO  M  E , 


% 


»  • 


# 


♦  « 


“  And  if  2  trouble  dimmed  their  golden  Joy, 

'Twas  oc.tward  dross  and  not  infused  alloy ; 

Their  Home  knew  but  affection^s  look  and  speech, 

A  little  Heaven  above  dissension’s,  reach.” 

Campbsu* 


*-  Bmi'lgs  on  past  misfortune’s  brow 
reflection’s  hand  can  trace ; 

An^o’er  the  cheek  of  sorrow  throw ' 

A  melancholy  grace ; 

While  Hope  prolongs  our  happier  hour, 

Or  the  deep  shades,  that  dimly  lower 
And  blacken  round  our  weary  way, 

Gilds  with  a  gleam  of  distant  day.” 

Gray.  Ode  on  Vicis<it^d& 


H 


« 


* 

HOME  IS  HOME 


CHAPTER  if 

A  cold,  foggy  November  afternoon  had  driven  from 
the  foot-path  nearly  all  the  more  respectable  of  the  in¬ 
habitants  of - street,  which,  as  every  one  knows^ 

is  the  long  suburb  by  which  London  makes  its  exit  on 

the - side  of  its  busy  thoroughfares.  The  shops 

here  are  few,  and  of  comparatively  small  importance ; 
and  the  street,  though  still  described  as  part  of  the 
great  Metropolis,  has  more  the  appearance  and  advan¬ 
tages  of  a  small  country  town.  A  tolerably  good  linen 
draper’s  shop,  a  chemist’s  and  a  library  with  its  com¬ 
fortable  reading  and  news-room,  form  its  principal  at¬ 
tractions.  Mr.  Dalton’s  reading-room  had  for  some 
time  been  the  resort  of  all  the  principal  gentlemen  in 
that  locality  or  within  a  mile  of  its  influence, ^and  hero 
might  be  heard  much  of  the  gossip  of  the  neighbor¬ 
hood.  It  was  on  this  “cold,  foggy  November  after¬ 
noon,”  that  an  elderly  gentleman  was  still  lingering  by 
the  fire  in  the  corner  of  Mr.  Dalton’s  shop ;  the  custom¬ 
ers  were  nearly  all  gone,  and  in  that  part  of  the  rooni 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


which  was  devoted  to  the  newspaper-readers,  none  re¬ 
mained  save  the  elderly  gentleman  we  have  mentioned, 
and  he  seemed  still  unwilling  to  leave  the  blazing  fire, 
and  face  the  cold  and  foggy  air  of  the  street.  Mr.  Dal¬ 
ton  called  the  shop-boy  to  turn  on  the  gas”  and  to  put 
coals  on  the  fire :  but  it  was  evident  that  with  all  the 
patient  civility  for  which  he  was  remarkable,  he  would 
have  been  very  glad  to  wish  Mr.  Crosby  ”  good  evening 
and  retire  to  his  own  comfortable  room  within  the  shop, 
where  good,  neat,  pretty  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  his  little 
boy  would  glac%  welcome  him  for  his  half-hour  of 
leisure ;  but  still  Mr.  Crosby  lingered,  looked  into  the 
fire,  and  round  the  shop,  then  buttoned  his  coat  and 
felt  for  gloves,  hovered  over  the  fire,  and  departed  not. 
At  length  the  good  bookseller  ventured  to  address  him. 

“  Did  you  know  anything,  sir,  of  the*  gentleman  at 
whose  house  the  sale  is  to  take  place  to-morrow 

Sale  I  hey?  no,  no,  I  don^t  know  of  any  sale — 
whose  is  it,  hey  ?” 

‘^At  Belmont  Villa,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Dalton,  re¬ 
spectfully. 

“  Belmont  Villa?  Belmont  fiddlestick  !  Villa  indeed, 
what  ?  three  rooms  and  a  garret,  I  suppose  !  oh  no,  I 
don’t  go  to  villas,  not  1 1” 

‘‘  Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  bill,  sir,  it  is  on 
that  table,  and  I  have  promised  to  try  to  circulate 
some.” 

‘‘  Bill,  hey,  yes,  here,  is  this  it  ?  Oh,  oh,  I  see,  I  see 
and  the  gruff  old  man  settled  himself  with  spectacles 
on  nose  to  read  the  paper  which  had  been  offered  him. 
It  ran  in  the  usual  terms  of  a  Sale  by  Auction  on  the 
Premises,”  &c.  (fee. ;  and  from  to  quality  of  the  furni- 


t 


HOMEISHOME.  0 

ture  mentioned  it  might  seem  to  have  belonged  to  peo¬ 
ple  of  taste,  if  not.  of  fortune.  Pictures,  drawings,  a 
piano,  violoncello,  &c.,  &c.,  were  among  the  articles 
specified,  and  at  each  of  these  announcements  the 
churlish  old  man  uttered  an  impatient  “  Pshaw.” 
Looking  up  at  last,  he  said, 

“  Well,  Mr.  Dalton,  and  who  are  these  blockheads 
with  all  their  nonsenses?”  Dalton  smiled,  but  know¬ 
ing  Mr.  Crosby  of  old,  said, 

“Their  name  is  Sinclair:  Mr.  Algernon  Sinclair 
and  his  family,  and  I  fear  they  have  met  with  some 
sad  reverses,  for  I  hear  the  sale  is  caused  by  an  execu¬ 
tion  put  in  by  one  of  their  creditors.” 

At  the  name  of  Sinclair  Mr.  Crosby  turned  away 
and  looked  into  the  fire,  stirred  it  violently,  and  seemed 
as  if  some  emotion  prevented  his  immediate  reply ;  in 
a  moment,  however,  he  resumed  his  usual  manner,  and 
even  with  increased  tartness  said, 

“  Algernon  Sinclair  indeed,  who  can  wonder  at  his 
fate  with  such  an  absurd  name  as  that.  Aris-to-cratic, 
I  suppose  ;  well,  well,  an  execution,  hey  ?  Serve  them 
right.  A  large  family  too,  I  daresay — I  nevfer  had  a 
large  family.”  But  here  the  querulous  old  man  paused, 
and  something  like  a  sigh  escaped  him.  Then,  taking 
up  a  catalogue  of  the  sale,  he  left  the  shop  in  haste,  ut¬ 
tering  a  brief  and  somewhat  hoarse  “  Good  night.” 

^nd  now  our  friend  the  bookseller  laughs  and  rubs 
his  hands  with  glee,  and  desiring  “  Jonas”  to  take  care 
of  the  shop,  and  call  him  if  he  should  be  wanted,  he 
opened  the  door  which  led  from  the  shop,  and  closing 
it  behind  him,  found  himself  in  his  most  snug  and 
comfortable  of  sittirg -rooms,  where  his  pretty  wife  and 

r 


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fine  curly-headed  boy  of  some  three  years  old  hailed  his 
entrance  with  delight.  A  bright  fire,  tea  ready,  and 
the  kettle  sending  forth  its  full  puffs  of  steam,  all  an¬ 
nounced  that  he  had  been  for  some  time  expected ;  and 
now  his  boy  is  on  his  knee ;  his  wife  prepares  his  toast, 
and  he  draws  from  his  pocket  the  new  number  of 
Dickens’  last  work^  Which  is  just  come  in :  this  is  a 
charming  surprise  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  she  calls  him  a 
“  dear  good  man,”  and  they  prepare  for  an  hour  of  un¬ 
mixed  enjoyment,  after  a  day  of  industry  and  careful 
attention  to  their  respective  duties. 

Meanwhile  old  Crosby  descended  the  steps  from  the 
reading-room,  holding  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth, 
and  trying  in  vain  to  retain  any  portion  of  the  warmth 
he  had  been  encouraging  by  Mr.  Dalton’s  good  fire ;  in 
fact,  he  was  even  more  chilled,  more  cold,  more  cross 
than  he  would  have  been  had  he  not  lingered  so  long 
in  the  enjoyment  of  its  comforts,  and  he  finds  it  quite 
needful  to  hasten  his  steps,  and  make  the  best  of  his 
way  to  his  home,  which  is  at  a  distance  of  about  half  a 
mile :  arrived  at  last,  he  opens  with  a  latch-key  an  iron 
gate,  which  forms  the  centre  of  a  long  brick  wall,  and 
passes  through  a  sort  of  green,  with  a  flagged  path 
leading  straight  up  to  a  substantial  brick  house,  having 
two  very  white  stone  steps  in  front,  which  even  in  this 
dirtiest  of  November  days,  still  look  as  if  they  had  only 
just  been  whitened  by  the  dexterous  hands  of^the 
housemaid.  The  knocker,  too,  is  bright  as  gold,  and 
though  evidently  bearing  the  date  of  the  last  century, 
still  looks  as  new  as  the  day  it  was  first  placed  there. 
Another  latch-key  admits  the  master  of  this  most  re¬ 
spectable  dwelling  ini  ‘  a  warm  and  carpeted  hall,  with 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


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some  panels  and  ornaments,  which  also  tell  a  tale  of 
the  ancient  times  when  these  substantial  buildings  were 
more  common  than  in  these  days  of  lath  and  plaster 
and  outside  appearance.  A  lamp  was  burning  in  this 
entrance  hall,  and  Mr.  Crosby  here  deposited  his  hat 
and  over-coat,  goloshes  and  comforter,  then  turned  on 
the  right  hand  into  a  sort  of  study,  which  to  him  served 
as  his  usual  sitting-room :  and  oh  !  what  a  comfortable 
nice  neat  room  it  was,  with  its  crimson  cloth  curtains 
now  carefully  adjusted,  its  many-colored  soft  Persian 
carpet,  reminding  one  of  all  the  pretty  blue,  crimson, 
and  golden  shell  sugar  plums,  which  used  so  to  delight 
our  color-loving,  childish  eyes.  One  side  of  the  room 
is  occupied  by  a  book-case  of  no  modern  date,  with  a 
lattice  of  the  brightest  brass  before  it,  enclosing  many 
hundred  well-chosen  volumes.  Yes,  and  by  the  bright 
gleam  from  the  wood  fire,  one  may  see  such  brilliant 
new  bindings,  showing  that  good  Mr.  Dalton’s  shop  has 
not  been  visited  in  vain ;  for  our  old  friend  likes  an 
amusing  tale,  when  he  seats  himself  by  his  fire  in  the 
evening.  His  neat  tea-table  is  set,  and  his  arm-chair 
with  slippers  and  a  boot-jack  are  placed  by  the  fire ; 
and,  as  he  seats  himself  and  holds  out  his  cold  hands 
to  warm  them,  a  large  tabby  cat  slowly  rouses  herself, 
and  stretches  out  her  hind  legs  as  if  inclined  to  mea¬ 
sure  the  length  of  the  rug,  then  draws  herself  together, 
as  if  trying  to  see  how  nearly  she  can  reach  the  ceiling^ 
and  with  a  faint  miaw,  takes  a  spring  and  seats  herself 
without  ceremony  on  the  extreme  point  of  her  master’s 
knee,  close  before  the  fire,  and  with  as  much  quiet  com¬ 
posure  as  if  she  had  not  changed  her  position  for  the 
last  month.  “Well,  so  you’re  come!  are  you?  Who 


12  HOMEISHOME. 

sent  for  you?”  but  he  strokes  her  softly,  and  Pussy 
purrs  merrily :  the  bell  is  now  rung,  and  a  nice,  cheer¬ 
ful,  middle-aged  housekeeper  appears  at  the  summons. 

“  Oh,  I  didn’t  hear  you  come  in,  sir ;  would  you  like 
your  tea  now  ?” 

Hey  !  Yes,  of  course  I  should ;  and,  Fairly,  bring 
candles  first ;  I  am  not  an  owl,  I  can’t  read  in  the 
dark  !”  Fairly  laughs  as  she  goes  out.  “  Oh  dear  ! 
master  is  so  funny and  she  hastens  to  bring  all  that 
will  be  wanted.  First  the  candles  in  such  bright,  old- 
fashioned  silver  candlesticks ;  then  the  kettle,  and  a 
silver  muffin-plate  with  the  hottest  of  muffins  toasted 
brown  and  crisp,  and  I  wonder  that  it  has  not  been 
eaten  already,  it  looks  so  tempting ;  then  another  log 
of  wood  is  added  to  increase  the  blaze,  and  with,  ‘‘  I 
hope  you’ll  find  all  things  to  your  liking,  sir,”  Fairly 
retires,  and  Mr.  Crosby  is  alone.  And  what  is  it  that 
induces  him  instantly  to  rise,  and  leave  all  these  com¬ 
forts,  and  once  more  return  to  the  hall  ?  Oh,  he  has 
left  something  in  his  coat-pocket,  the  bill  of  the  sal^, 
which  he  brought  from  Mr.  Dalton’s ;  and  with  this  in 
his  hand,  once  more  he  ensconces  himself  in  his  arm¬ 
chair,  and  begins  to  sip  his  tea  and  eat  his  muffin, 
V'hile  he  studies  the  catalogue  before  him ;  and  as  he 
considered  all  its  contents,  he  occasionally  made  a 
mark  against  some  article,  and  grumbled  forth  such 
sentences  as  these:  “  Nice  time  for  a  sale,  great  hopes 
they  must  have  of  purchasers !  cold,  and  fog,  and  rain, 
and  dirt — well,  there’ll  be  nobody  there,  that’s  one 
comfort,  and  things  will  sell  cheap.  Ah,  cheap  ;  well ! 
ril  go;  le?s  see, let’s  see,  ^a  piano’ — I  dare  say,  every 
fool  has  a  piano  now ;  however,  they  won’t  get  much 


13 


.  HOMEISHOME. 

for  that  in  this  neighborhood,  that’s  one  comfort  and 
again  the  old  man  smiles,  but  there  is  no  bittirness  in 
this  smile,  but  more  of  quiet,  sad  remembrance,  and 
something  like  a  tear  glistens  in  his  eje ;  sadly  he 
rests  his  head  upon  his  hand,  his  gruff  churlishness  is 
thrown  aside,  and  for  a  few  moments  his  better  genius 
prevails. 

Some  time  passes  in  contemplation  and  in  reading: 
he  always  retires  early,  and  the  evening  is  rapidly  draw¬ 
ing  to  its  close :  the  tea-things  have  been  long  with¬ 
drawn,  but  as  Fairly  knows  her  master’s  humor,  she 
has  not  interrupted  the  silence,  perhaps  sleepy  doze,  in 
which  she  finds  him  each  time  that  she  has  entered  the 
apartment.  At  nine  o’clock  Mr.  Crosby  rings  a  silver 
bell,  which  has  been  standing  by  his  side  all  the  even¬ 
ing,  and  Fairly  brings  the  night-candle,  and  then 
wishes  her  master  “  a  very  good  night,”  and  leaves  the 
room,  not  on  any  pretence  to  dare  again  intrude  herself 
upon  his  privacy.  Mr.  Crosby  sat  a  few  moments  in 
perfect  stillness,  and  then,  having  ascertained  that  the 
servants  are  really  gone  to  their  respective  rooms,  he 
locks  and  bolts  the  door  of  his  study,  and  opens  the 
doors  of  the  book-case  we  have  described,  and  takes 
down  what  appears  to  be  a  row  of  well-bound  books, 
but  which  in  reality  is  an  iron  front  of  an  iron  safe,  for 
papers  or  other  matters,  and  which  is  so  beautifully 
painted  to  represent  Hume’s  History  of  England,  that 
no  one  could  ever  believe  it  to  be  formed  of  such  heavy 
and  lasting  material.  From  this  iron  cheSt  the  old  man 
takes  out  several  bags  containing  money,  and  places 
them,  one  by  one,  on  the  table  below  him  ;  then  carefully 
0  d  ascending  from  the  high  steps  which  have  been  formed 


14 


# 


HOME  IS  HOME. 

by  turning  over  his  easy  chair,  he  stands  before  these, 
his  earthly  treasures :  well  will  it  be  for  thee,  old  man, 
if  they  prove  not  to  thee  a  hindrance  to  the  attainment 
of  those  heavenly  treasures  which  do  not  rust  or  cor¬ 
rupt  .  .  .  .  The  old  man  looks  at  these  bags  with 

tearful  eyes :  for  when  he  first  began  to  hoard  his  mon¬ 
eys,  all  were  intended  for  one  he  loved  too  dearly,  and 
now  it  has  become  a  habit ;  and  he  still  hoards  and 
hoards,  more  and  more,  from  year  to  year.  At  length 
recalling  his  intention  in  seeking  his  treasures  on  this 
particular  evening,  he  selects  one  bag  which  bears  in 
large  red  figures  on  its  surface,  £100,  and  replacing  all 
others,  and  carefully  closing  the  secret  spring,  he  locked 
the  door  of  his  book-case,  deposited  the  bag  which  he 
had  selected  in  a  carpet-bag,  which  he  took  from  a 
closet  under  the  book-case,  and  carrying  it  in  his  hand, 
ascended  the  stairs  to  his  bedroom,  muttering  as  he 
went,  “  Things  will  be  cheap,  ah !  very  cheap,  no 
doubt  r* 


# 


% 


CHAPTER  II. 


And  now.  Laving  wished  Mr.  Crosby  “  Good  night,** 
we  will  leave  him  to '  lock  himself  into  his  comfortable 
bedroom,  and  once  more  emerging  into  the  street,  we 
will  follow  the  young  woman  who  is  at  this  moment 
passing  by  the  wall  which  forms  the  boundary  to  his 
grounds.*  She  is  young  and  active,  and,  with  a  basket 
on  her  arm,  and  a  loose  brown  clo«k,  with  ample  hood 
hanging  behind,  is  hurrying  through  the  streets  at  at) 
unusual  pace  for  a  person  who  is  encumbered  with  pat¬ 
tens,  jn  addition  to  the  burthen  we  have  described 
Click  clack,  click  clack,  click  clack,  clickty  clack,  re¬ 
sounds  through  the  long  street,  unbroken  by  any  other 
sound,  except  the  ringing  of  the  last  post-bell  for  the 
evening,  which  is  heard  at  intervals,  all  the  distance  of 
that  long  suburb;  at  length  the  pattens  reach  softer 
ground,  ^nd  the  click  clack  is  much  deadeaed,  no  longer 
affording  its  exciting  music  to  the  now  weary  pede^rtrian : 
she  shifts  her  basket,  and  gathers  her  cloak  round  her, 
and  begins  to  wish  she  had  “  brought  an  umbrella,**  for 
the  fog  is  fast  changing  into  a  regular  fall  of  small,  soak¬ 
ing  rain,  and  she  begins  to  fear  she  shall  be*  wet  to  the 
?kin  before  she  can  reach  her  destination,  and  then  “1*11 
be  bound  that  ,  ill-mannered  grate  will  have  put  the  fire 
^out,  bad  G'‘«s  to  it.**  However,  the  weary  distance  is  at 


16 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


length  accomplished,  and  she  reaches  the  little  palisade^ 
which  separates  from  the  road  the  house  which  she  is 
seeking ;  but  it  is  so  dark,  that,  but  for  the  white  rails, 
she  would  not  have  been  able  to  see  how  nearly  she  had 
reached  the  end  of  her  weary  walk.  She  turned  in  at 
the  large  white  gate,  and  then  stooped  to  take  off  her 
pattens,  saying,  Oh,  it’s  little  use  thinking  of  him,  but 
the  master  always  hated  the  sight  of  them  nasty  patten 
•^larks  in  the  gravel,  more  by  token  he  was .  angered, 
oncet  wi’  me,  I  well  minds,  so  I’ll  run  no  risks  of  vexing 
him,  God  bless  him and  the  ‘good-natured  creature 
picked  her  way  along  the  rough  sides  of  the  gravel- 
walk  which  led  to  the  house.  A  stone  portico,  sup¬ 
ported  on  two  round  pillars,  formed  the  principal  en¬ 
trance,  and  to  this  the  young  woman  directed  her  steps, 
as  here  she  could  be  sheltered  from  the  rain  till  some 
one  from  the  house  should  come  to  admit  her.  She 
rang,  however,  somewhat  timidly,  for  she  never  before 
had  ventured  to  stop  at  the  principal  entrance ;  but  the 
bell  was  instantly,  and  as  it  would  seem,  gladly  attended 
to,  and  a  light  step  was  heard  approaching  the  door 
from  within.  “  Honor,  is  that  you  ?”  demanded  a 
young,  clear,  yet  gentle  voice.  “  Indeed,  then,  an  it’s 
meself.  Miss  Kate,  an  I’m  entirely  kilt  wi’  the  wet  and 
coTiid,  so  open  the  door  quickly,  and  it’s  meself  will  tell 
ye  all  about  it.”  By  this  time  the  door  was  opened, 
and  a  fair  young  girl  of  eighteen  or  thereabouts,  stood 
within  its  shelter,  shading  with  her  soft  white  hand  the 
light  which  she  held  so  as  to  save  it  from  extinction 
by  the  sudden  gust  of  wind  and  rain  which  greeted  her 
a;rival. 

“Pear  good' Hon or^  I’m  so  glad  you’ve  come  j  but 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


17 


how  long  you  have  been  kept,  and  how  wet  and  cold  you 
look ;  but  do  not  stand  here,  come  into  your  kitchen, 
where  I  have  put  some  sticks  to  warm  you.  I  have  had 
my  tea,  but  you  will  find  some  ready  for  you.” 

“  Oh,  Miss  Kate,  my  own  sweet  darlint  Miss  Kate, 
is  it  yerself  that  has  taken  all  this  thrubble  for  me,  as 
isn’t  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  the  likes  of  ye  ?  the  heav’ns 
be  your  bed,  and  they  will  for  sartain,  for  niver  was  ySt 
equal  yet !”  * 

Hush,  hush,  my  good  Honor,  or  I  shall  think  you 
are  quite  bewildered  with  your  sorrow  and  trouble. 
But  now  tell  me  how  are  they,  my  dear,  dear  ones  ? 
How  are  they  bearing  this  heavy  trial,  and  without  me 
to  help  and  assist  them  ?  Is  my  dear  papa  better  ? 
and  mamma,  does  she  eat  anything?  and  does  she 
look  less  sad  ?  Oh  Honor !  tell  me  all,  for  I  am  in¬ 
deed  in  grief  and  sorrow,  more  than  I  can  well  sup¬ 
port.” 

Why  thin,  my  dear  honored  young,  lady,  I  am 
thankful  to  tell  you  that  they  are  all  intirely  as  well 
as  you  could  expict,  and  poor  masther  is  quiet  and 
calm^  and  the  misthress — ^well  she  do  look  pale,  that’s 
sartain,  but  they  took  some  of  the  wine  you  sent,  and  I 
told  them  you  would  try  to  join  them  to-morrow,  after 
that  thief  of  the  wo^  has  finished  the  sale.  Ohone, 
ohone,  I  can’t  bear  it ;  oh.  Miss,  my  heart  will  break ; 
for  how  can  I  see  ye  all,  that  I  love  better  than  my 
life,  deprived  of  all  your  comforts :  but  oh.  Miss  Kate, 
let  me  bide  wP  ye  to  the  last !  I  can  spin  a  little,  and 
who  knows  but  the  novelty  may  bring  us  some  money 
sometimes :  bub  I  ask  yer  pardon,  intirely,  Miss ;  it*s 
little  that  the  likes  of  me  can  do.” 


18 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


My  dear,  good,  faithful  Honor,  you  can  and  do 
comfort  me  ;  and,  at  all  events,  till  this  sad  business  is 
concluded,  I  shall  be  thankful  to  keep  you  near  me ; 
but  as  yet  1  know  not  what  will  be  my  dear  papa’s 
arrangements  afterwards :  so  now,  dear  Honor,  go  and 
get  your  tea,  and  I,  meanwhile,  will  finish  my  prepara¬ 
tion  for  to-morrow.”  Honor  then  walked  sadly  into 
^  her  kitchen,  and  there  found  a  small  but  bright  fire, 
and  her  little  meal  ready  ;  for,  as  she  said,  “  Thrubble’s 
niver  so  hard  upon  Miss  Kate  as  to  prevent  her  think¬ 
ing  of  others.”  She  now  takes  off  the  almost  dripping 
cloak,  and  shakes  the  straw  bonnet,  and  then  carefully 
wipes  it,  as  she  stands  before  the^  fire  to  warm  her  be¬ 
numbed  fingers.  While  thus  occupied,  she  raises  her 
head  and  listens,  throws  back  the  rather  damp,  black 
curls  from  her  face,  and  by  the  help  of  a  bright  blush, 
looks  really  pretty ;  for,  albeit  the  nose  is  a  thought 
too  much  turned  at  the  point,  yet  it  only  serves  more 
fully  to  bring  into  notice  the  full,  rich  mouth  and  pearly 
teeth  so  commonly  found  among  the  Irish  peasantry ; 
her  black  eyes  flash,  too,  as  she  hears  Rory’s  well- 
known  tap  at  the  little  shutter  of  her  window,  and  the 
“  Whisht !  Rory,  is  that  you  ?”  is  instantly  followed  by 
the  unbolting  of  the  door,  for  the  sly  puss  knows  that 
“  Rory  it  ij,”  and  she  quite  lo^^s  for  a  peep  at  his 
good,  kind  face  ;  but  she  now  cautions  him  not  to  make 
a  stir,  for  she  says,  “  It  isn’t  that  I  mind  dear  Miss 
Kate’s  knowing  of  your  coming,  Rory  dear,  but  may  be 
she  might  think  it  selfish  of  me  to  feel  so  happy  as  the 
sight  of  ye  makes  me,  this  weary  night.  Oh,  Rory,  my 
poor,  dear  masther  !  I  feel  for  him  and  all  the  family, 
and  my  heart  is  too  full  intirely  I’i  By  this  time  Rory 


# 


HOMBISHOME.  Id 

h  seated,  and  trying  to  look  as  sad  as  his  pretty  Hon¬ 
or  ;  but,  though  fully  sympathizing  with  her,  there  is 
♦  still  a  slight  twinkle  of  the  bright  eyes,  and  an  almost 
smile  about  the  handsome  moutfi,  which  show  that 
Rory  thinks  he  can  in  some  measure  allay  the  pain  of 
that  d  wly-loved  and  prized  one’s  heart.  He  listens, 
however,  patiently,  and  Honor  pours  out  a  cup  of  tea 
for  him,  and  they  look  lovingly  at  each  other,  and 
Honor  is  “  quite  ashamed”  of  feeling  so  comfortable  on 
this  sad  evening.  At  last  poor  Rory  can  no  longer 
keep  his  secret,  and  he  draws  near  his  mistress,  and 
takes  her  hand,  and-— well,  no  matter.  Honor  scolds, 
and  Rory  laughs,  and  then  takes  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket  a  very  small  leathern  purse,  from  which  his 
large  finger  and  thumb  at  last  draw  themselves  out,  and 
display,  to  Honor’s  great  surprise,  two  golden  sovereigns. 

Ah  !  I  knew  you’d  be  tuck  by  surprise,  me  dar* 
lint !  but  they  are  honestly  arnt,  and  now  say  the  word. 
Honor  dear,  and  I’ll  ‘  buy  the  ring,’  and  ye  shall  Gave 
another  home,  where  ye’ll  be  loved  and  cherished, 
though  may  be  we’ll  not  be  able  to  provide  all  the  com¬ 
forts  which  you  have  had  in  this  blessed  house ;  but 
I’ll  do  my  best,  mavourneen !  and  ye  shall  nivver  have 
to  say,  ‘  Rory  takes  the  dhrop  too  much dearest 
Honor,  tell  me  all  your  wishes,  and  you  shall  have  my 
heart’s  blood,  if  it’ll  be  doing  ye  good  anyhow.” 

At  first  the  girl  listened  with  evident  pleasure  ; 
her  hand  rested  confidingly  in  that  of  her  lover,  and 
she  lowered  her  sweet  face,  that  he  might  not  read  her 
tell-tale  eyes  too  plainly ;  but  a  sudden  thought  in¬ 
duces  a  change  of  position,  and  she  throws  herself  sud 
denly  upon  her  lover’s  shoulder. 


20 


HOM£  IS  HOME. 


“  Oh  Kory,  dear  Rory,  ye  knows  my  heart,  and  yo 
needs  not  for  me  to  tell  ye  that  it’s  all  your  own,  and 
none  but  ye  shall  ever  be  my  husband,  but  it  musi  not  ^ 
be  yet,  dearest  Rory !  Can  I  lave  them  as  has  nur¬ 
tured  and  fed  me  all  my  orphan  days,  and  trated  me 
like  their  own  entirely  ?  Can  I  go  and  find  comforts, 
and  pleasures,  and  lave  them  in  their  thrubble  ?  Ah, 
ye  wouldn’t  wish  it  I  for  I  should  be  entirely  unworthy 
of  yer  love,  if  I  could  do  so  I” 

Rory  clasps  the  noble  girl  to  his  honest  heart,  and 
smothering  his  feelings  of  sorrow  and  disappointment, 
bursts  forth  into  the  strong,  enthusiastic  language  of 
his  country,  and  showers  every  blessing  that  heart  can 
imagine  upon  the  dear  girl,  of  whom  he  is  so  justly 
proud.  When  the  first  mixed  feelings  had  a  little 
passed  away.  Honor,  with  many  blushes — for  she  is 
very  delicate  on  the  subject  of  money  matters,  and  has 
mugh  difficulty  in  bringing  her  lips  to  utter  the  wishes 
of  her  heart,  which  have  been  suddenly  excited  by  the 
sight  of  such  unaccountable  riches  as  have  been  just 
displayed;  the  thought,  however,  that  it  must  ‘^just 
be  now  or  never”  prevails — so  she  bursts  forth  boldly 
with  a  request,  which  at  another  moment  she  could  not 
have  proposed. 

“  Dear  Rory,  what’ll  ye  do  with  thim  two  bright 
golden  sovereigns,  now  that  we  don’t  need  what  ye 
proposed  to  buy  wid  ’em?  Would  ye ?  oh,  would  ye 
be  here  to-morrow  and  ’stow  them  in  some  way  upon 
that  dear  suffering  angel.  Miss  Kate ;  ohone !  an’ 
they’ve  taken  her  purty  desk,  and  her  work-box,  and 
all  her  things,  and  put  it  all  in  that  thief  of  a  cat’logue, 
and  what’ll  she  do  without  all  her  pretty  presents  and 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


21 


things  ?  Oh  Rory  !  I’ve  saved  a  very  little,  and  lot  ua 
see  what  we  can  do  for  her.  Will  ye,  dear  ?” 

Good,  honest,  kind  Rory  stands  with  tearful  eyes,  of 
which  j^e  is  ashamed.  Why  ?  but  his  generous^  heart 
fully  responds  to  Honor’s  wishes,  and  with  a  ^^God 
bless  ye.  Honor  1  don’t  fear  but  I’ll  be  here,  God  wil¬ 
ling,”  he  bent  his  head,  and  squeezing  poor  Honor’s 
hand,  he  rushes  from  the  house,  and  as  he  strides 
rapidly  down  the  road,  ejaculates,  “  Oh,  and  isn’t  she  m 
a  darlint  and  an  angel !  that  she  is;  and  when  she  is 
mine,  may  be  I  shan’t  have  the  best  wife%i  the  king¬ 
dom,  let  alone  ould  Ireland.” 

He  is  gone,  and  Honor  still  lingers  i^ere  he  left 
her,  and  perhaps  a  little  sigh  escapes  her  as  she  thinks 
how  she  has  decided ;  but  it  is  only  for  one  passing 
moment,  and  then  she  hastily  arranges  her  neat  kitchen, 
and  taking  her  candle  goes  to  seek  “  Miss  Kate.”  The 
vestibule  is  filled  with  articles  prepared  for  the  sale, 
and  ticketed  with  little  round  pieces  of  paper  bearing 
the  marks  of  “  Lot  *  *  *  *  up  to  Lot  *  *  **  and  all 
looks  disordered  and  cheerless ;  the  stair  carpets  are 
rolled  up,  and  everything  is  marked  to  correspond  with 
the  catalogue  of  the  auctioneer.  Honor  slowly  ascends 
the  staircase,  and  approaches  the  door  of  Kate’s  own 
pretty  sleeping-room;  her  timid  knock  rouses  poor 
Kate,  who  hastily  effaces  the  marks  of  the  sad  tears 
which  have  at  length  found  vent,  and  opening  the  dotr.  ^ 
admits  her  kind  and  now  only  companion.  Kate’s  room 
has  been  left  in  its  usual  state,  with  the  exception  of 
the  lot  tickets  affixed  to  all  the  articles  within  it ;  and 
here,  in  this  neatest  of  rooms,  prepared  by  the  express 
•  •direction  of  her  dear,  indulgent  parents,  poor  Kate  has 


25  HOMEISHOME. 

passed  the  last  few  hours  of  her  stay  in  her  once  happy 
home. 

‘‘Well,  my  good  Honor,  do  you  want  me  now?  1 
hope  you  have  had  your  tea  ?”  ^  ^ 

“  Oh  yes.  Miss,  thanks  to  yer  goodness,  but  1  am 
vexed  to  think  I’ve  left  ye  so  long  by  yerself” 

“Never  mind  that,  my  good  girl,  and  now  tell  me 
all  that  you  have  done  since  we  parted  this  afternoon.” 

“  Why,  Miss,  I  set  out  with  an  aching  heart  to  find 
my  dear  masther  and  misthress  at  the  lodgings,  and  I 
thought  hiver  get  there ;  for  ye  see,  I  was  so  impa¬ 
tient  like,  and  I  thought  may  be  they’d  not  have  cared 
to  prepare^^heir  dinner  in  a  strange  place ;  so  I  just  ^ 
hurried  on  for  dear  life,  and  at  last  I  found  the  street, 
and  inquired  as  ye  told  me  at  Mrs.  Crump’s,  the  green 
grocer,  for  Mr.  Eveleigh’s  apartments;  and  she  says, 

‘  Oh,  I  doubt  ye  mane  Mr.  Eveleigh’s,  as  was ;  for  some  • 
strangers  is  come  there  now.*  So  I  thought  it  was  all 
right,  and  I  told  her  yes,  I  believed  they  was  the  ex-  - 
picted  ones,  and  she  showed  me  the  way  to  a  red  brick 
house,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  once  belonged  to  some 
quality,  and  she  tould  me  it  was  let  now  in  rooms,  and 
there  she  left  me ;  and  so  I  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
who  should  be  accidently  in  the  passage  but  Masther 
Charles  ?  for  though  I  knocked  once  or  twice  I  suppose 
Masther  Charles  was  busy  or  something,  for  he  did 
not  open  the  door  directly ;  and  when  he  seen  me,  ho 
says,  ‘Oh,  is  it  you,  dear  Honor?’  0  what  a  purty 
way  that  dear  boy  spakes  in,  he  has  always  a  ‘  dear’  or 
a ‘good’  or  some^ind  word  for  poor  Honor.  Well, 

Masther  Charles  shows  me  in,  and  up  a  wide  old  stair- 
aase,  and  then  up  still  higher;  and,  thinks  I,  is  it  ^ 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


23 


hiv’n  intirely  that  they’ve  had  the  manners  to  put  the 
likes  of  them  ?  I  can’t  but  say  I  was  grieved  to  think 
the  masther  should  have  so  much  thrubhle  every  time 
he  wished  to  take  the  breath  of  air.  However,  I  didn’t 
say  aught,  and  all  was  forgotten  when  I  seen  them ;  the 
dear  little  ones  flew  to  me^  and  clung  round  my  neck, 
but  I  put  them  by,  and .  made  my  humble  curtsey  to 
my  dear  kind  lady  ;  so  she  tcld  me  to  e^me  in,  and 
shut  the  door  ;  and  thin  1  put  down  my  basket,  and  I 
says,  ‘  Miss  Kate  sends  ye  some  things,  nq^a’am,  and 
she  hopes  you  and  masther  will  take  some  wine,  and 
she  gives  her  love,  and  she  will  come  to  you  after  all  is 
settled,  and  hopes  yc’r  all  comfortable.’ — But  oh  !  dear 
Miss  Kate,  I  couldn’t  bear  it,  and  they  all  looking  so 
sorrowful ;  and  my  foolish  tares,  which,  bad  manners  to 
them,  alway^  come  when  they’re  not  wanted,  flowed 
down  my  cheeks,  and  I  couldn’t  see  at  all  at  all :  how- 
iver,  I  eonkered  ’em,\ind  I  stooped  down  and  opened 
the  basket,  and  took  out  the  cold  chicken  you  sent,  and 
the  bottle  o’  wine,  and  thin  I  spread  out  the  white  cloth, 
and  tried  to  give  it  a  genteel  air.  My  dear  mistress 
looked  on  smiling,  wid  her  own  sweet  kindly  smile ; 
och  !  I  wonder  how  any  one  can  have  the  heart  to  harm 
her,  God  bless  her  I  Well,  anyhow,  I  made  it  all  look 
comfortable,  an’  I  think  the  two  little  oifes  was  hungry, 
tho’  they  did’nt  say  so,  and  I’d  a  hard  matter  to  keep 
back  thim  fools  of  tares  when  I  heard  them  tell  master 
that  they  did’nt  ‘  wish  the  chicken,’  but  ‘  only  a  bit  of 
the  ham’  and  a  ^potato.’  Ah,  Miss  Kate,  you’ve 
schooled ’em  well,  and  they  are  precious  lambs  in  the 
eight  of  their  Maker  !  Well,  I  was  glad  to  see  yer 
papa  smile,  and  he  said  in  his  grand  way,  ‘  Thankee, 


24 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


Honor,  thankee,  all  very  nicely  done,  but  we  will  not 
keep  ye,  for  it’ll  be  getting  dark,  so  leave  us  now,  and 
tell  Miss  Kate  we  are  all  well,  and  shall  hope  to  see 
her  to-morrow so  I  asked  my  misthress  if  she  had 
anything  to  send,  an’  she  told  me  to  take  back  the 
things  they  had  yesterday  ;  and  I  wint  into  the  passage 
and  packed  my  basket,  for  somehow  I  thought  masther 
was  unaisy  like,  at  my  seeing  what  a  sad  revarse  it  all 
was;  so  I  just  wint. in  and  made  my  curtsey  to  them 
all,  and  set  out  on  my  way  home,  but  it  was  nearly 
dark  and  I  missed  my  way,  and  got  low  and  tired  like, 
and  I  couldn’t  see  a  dacent  person  to  ask  the  question 
which  way  would  1  be  going,  and  I  thought  I’d  niver 
get  home.  Well,  at  last  I  found  myself  all  right,  for  I 
earned  out  just  opposite  Mr.  Dalton’s  shop,  and  Jonas 
was  putting  up  the  shutters  as  the  clock  struck  half 
past  something,  which  I  knew  must  be  eifht,  for  that’s 
his  hour  for  shutting  up  the  shop  ;  and  so  I  tuck  heart 
and  got  home  quite  safe,  .and  right  glad  I  was  to  find 
myself  under  the  portical,  and  to  hear  your  own  sweet 
voice.  Miss  Kate.” 

Poor  Kate,  with  silence  and  in  sadness,  listened  to 
this  first  report  of  her  dear  parents  state  since  their 
separation  on  the  preceding  morning,  when,  with  much 
difficulty,  she  had  prevailed  on  them  to  leave  her  with 
Honor  to  finish  the  arrangements  for  the  sale,  and  to 
attend  to  anything  which  might  arise,  but  she  was,  of 
course,  to  seclude  herself  during  the  hours  of  the  auc¬ 
tion,  and  to  join  her  parents  as  soon  as  it  was  concluded. 
She  now  told  Honor  that  she  felt  tired,  and  requesting 
to  be  called  at  seven  o’clock  on  the  following  morning, 
she  dismissed  the  kind-hearted  girl,  and  locking  the^ 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


25 


door  of  the  room,  approached  the  fire,  and  leaning  on 
the  mantlepiece  indulged  for  a  few  moments  in  the  sad 
thoughts  which  the  account  of  the  dearly  loved  party 
had  occasioned  her  ;  but  not  long  did  sadness  prevail^ 
for  she  thought,  “  Is  not  this  sad  trial  sent  from  ^  a 
father’s  hand,’  and  can  he  err  in  his  dealings  with  his 
children?”  and  deep  and  loving  thoughts  of  Him,  in 
whom  she  trusted  brought  sweet  peace  to  her  heart ; 
and  she  knelt  down  in  her  accustomed  place  beside  her 
little  couch,  and  prayed  for  strength  to  meet  the  trials 
which  she  saw  approaching  ;  she  asked  not  for  their  re¬ 
moval,  but  for  submission  to  the  will  of  Him  who  sent 
them  ;  and  then  she  arose,  calm  and  cheerful ;  nor  did 
she  suffer  herself  to  think  of  anything  which  would  tend 
to  soften  or  excite  her  feelings.  She  felt  comfort  in 
the  reflection  that  she  should  be  able  to  assist  and  sup¬ 
port  those  she  loved  so  dearly ;  and  for  some  time  she 
slept  peacefully. 


9 


CHAPTER  III. 


Wl  must  now  take  a  slight  retrospective  glance,  and 
give  some  account  of  the  causes  which  had  given  rise  to 
the  troubles  and  difficulties  of  the  family  we  have  thus 
hastily  introduced  to  our  readers.  Mr.  Sinclair  was  the 
youngest  of  three  sons  of  a  gentleman  of  fortune  and 
consideration  in  one  of  the  northern  counties,  his  fa¬ 
ther  and  elder  brother  were  devoted  to  field  sports,  and 
spent  most  of  their  time  in  the  field  or  on  the  race 
course,  leading  a  thoughtless,  careless  life,  well  pleased 
that  the  young  and  gentle  Mrs.  Sinclair  should  be 
too  fond  of  her  nursery  and  its  little  petted  inmates 
to  claim  much  of  their  time  and  attention.  Mr.  Sin¬ 
clair  had  been  twice  married,  and  Henry,  or  as  he  was 
generally  called,  Harry,  was  the  son  of  his  first  wife ; 
and  as  Mr.  Sinclair  remained  a  widower  for  some  years, 
there  was  much  difference  in  age  between  Harry  and 
the  two  little  boys  who  now  claimed  their  young  mo¬ 
ther’s  care.  The  second  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  young  and 
portionless,  and  Mr.  Sinclair,  in  giving  her  a  comfort¬ 
able  home  and  handsome  appointments,  thought  he  had 
fulfilled  all  that  was  required  of  him,  and  he  made  no 
provision  for  these  younger  children,  but  trusted  to  giv¬ 
ing  them  the  means  of  following  a  profession  worthy  of 
their  station  in  life,  when  they  should  attain  the  proper 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


27 


age.  Thus  they  were  left  to  the  guidance  and  teaching 
of  their  gentle  mother,  who,  though  well  qualified  to 
give  them  a  taste  for  all  the  refinements  and  elegancies 
of  life,  and  to  lead  them  into  a  love  for  ail  that  was 
truly  good  and  excellent,  was  little  calculated  to  give 
to  their  minds  that  vigor  and  firmness  which  in  the 
manly  character  is  so  indispensable. 

Earnest,  the  eldest  of  her  two  boys,  soon  evinced  a 
most  decided  contempt  for  all  petticoat  government ; 
and  having  wearied  the  strength  and  spirits  of  both 
nurse”  and  “  mamma,”  v/as  one  morning  sent  off  to  a 
regular  boy’s  school,  much  to  his  delight ,  while  little 
Algernon,  in  his  soft  vest  of  green  velvet,  was  left  to 
meet  all  the  petting  and  indulgence  of  his  quiet-loving 
mother.  And  well  did  she  her  duty  as  far  as  she  un¬ 
derstood  what  was  needful,  instructing  him  in  every  re¬ 
ligious  and  moral  duty,  and  as  he  grew  older,  gladly 
cultivating  in  him  a  love  for  those  arts  to  which  she  was 
herself  devoted ;  and  never  did  she  feel  so  pleased,  as 
when  seated  at  her  drawing-table,  with  all  her  elegant 
appliances  around  her,  she  worked  in  silence  at  some 
lovely  miniature  of  her  darling  boy ;  or  copied  in  oils, 
some  of  the  really  fine  paintings  which  adorned  the 
mansion  of  which  she  Tvas  the  mistress.  On  these  oc¬ 
casions,  the  little  Algernon,  with  his  drawing-book  and 
pencil,  was  only  too  happy  to  stand  by  her  side,  and  try  to 
copy  dear  mamma,”  and  to  see  dear  mamma”  smile 
and  look  pleased  when  he  had  perpetrated  some  cat  with 
a  dog’s  head,  or  haystack  wdth  a  chimney  on  the  top  of  it. 
Thus,  as.  time  went  on,  a  love  of  dravving  was  instilled, 
and  as  his  mother  was  also  passionately  fond  of  music, 
little  Algernon  was  soon  instructed  in  this  art.  also ;  at 


28 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


six  years  old  he  could  play  many  airs  both  on  the  piano 
and  violin ;  and  when,  at  the  age  of  eight,  he  was  seen 
standing  on  a  raised  step  by  his  mamma’s  side,  and  play¬ 
ing  easy  accompaniments  to  her  beautiful  piano  move¬ 
ments,  even  the  rough  Mr.  Sinclair  would  clap  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  pronounce  him  “  quite  a  prodigy  !” 
In  this  way  time  fled,  and  Algernon  was  still  under  his 
mother’s  sole  care,  when,  at  fourteen,  he  was  called  upon 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her  through  a  long  and  painful 
illness  which  terminated  in  rapid  consumption ;  so 
that,  although  Mr.  Sinclair  had  said  that  it  was  high 
time  for  Algy  to  go  to  school,  it  was  impossible  to  re¬ 
move  him  while  his  precious  mother  so  much  required 
his  presence ;  and  a  tutor  was  therefore  provided  for 
him.  About  this  time  Ernest  left  school,  and  as  he  had 
shown  for  some  time  a  great  desire  to  go  abroad,  Mr. 
Sinclair  procured  a  cadetship  for  him  ;  and  giving  him 
his  outfit,  and  having  lodged  £500  for  him  in  a  banker’s 
hands  at  Calcutta,  he  saw  him  safely  on  board  an  East 
Indiaman  ;  and  telling  him  that  when  next  they  met  he 
should  expect  to  see  him  “  rolling  in  riches,”  he  tried  to 
smile  as  he  shook  him  by  the  hand  for  the  last  time ; 
but,  as  the  smile  proved  a  failure,  he  hastily  brushed 
from  his  eyes  some  “  fog”  or  “  rain”  which  blinded  him, 
and  announcing  that  he  had  “  a  horrid  cold,”  rushed 
from  the  deck,  and  quickly  ensconced  himself  in  the 
boat  which  awaited  his  return  to  the  shore ;  and  the 
parting  was  over. 

We  will  now  pass  by  four  or  five  years  of  Algernon 
Sinclair’s  life,  only  stating  that  he  lost  his  dear  mother 
when  ho  was  about  fifteen,  ai;  d  that  he  then  was  per¬ 
mitted  to  keep  his  tutor  with  him,  as  his  father,  who 


HOME  IS  E3ME. 


29 

bated  all  trouble,  rather  liked  Mr.  Upton,  tie  tutor, 
and  thought  the  house  would  be  dull  without  him  and 
Algy.  So  time  passed,  and  at  eighteen  Mr.  Sinclair  told 
Algernon  that  it  was  now  quite  time  that  he  should 
decide  on  his  future  course  ;  and  as  his  education  had 
not  prepared  him  either  for  tho  church  or  any  other 
learned  profession,  it  remained  only  for  him  to  decide 
whether  his  destination  should  be  the  army  or  the 
navy,  as  he  knew  of  no  other  means  of  providing  for 
him.  Algernon  immediately  decided  on  the  former, 
and  his  father  lost  no  time  in  securing  for  him  a  com¬ 
mission  in  a  regiment.  Shortly  afterwards  this  regi¬ 
ment  was  ordered  to  Ireland,  and  remained  there  for 
some  years.  We  will  not  follow  Algernon  all  through 
his  military  career  ;  suffice  it  that,  at  five-and-twenty,  h^ 
was  addressed  as  Captain  Sinclair,^’  and  that,  shortly 
after,  he  married  a  very  lovely  and  accomplished  giri, 

who  resided  with  her  widowed  mother  in  — - ,  whero 

the  regiment  had  been  stationed  for  about  two  years ; 
and,  though  his  bride  had  little  save  her  beauty  and 
bright  virtues  to  bring  with  her  as  her  dowry,  yet 
witlh  care  and  frugality  they  hoped  to  do  well,  and  they 
were  truly  happy.  Emily  was  as  fond  of  the  arts  as 
her  husband  could  wish  ;  he  would  hang  over  her  chair 
and  watch  the  progress  of  those  fairy  fingers,  while 
painting  or  copying  some  of  ‘^dear  Algernon’s  oweet 
drawings,”  and  her  husband’s  violoncello  “  is  such  a 
support,”  and  he  “  does  play  so  sweetly,”  that  Algernon 
is  quite  enticed  intp  passing  almost  all  his  time  with 
her  ;  and  his  heart  returns  to  the  time  when  his  dear, 
his  beloved  mother,  was  his  companion  and  th^  en¬ 
couraging  instructress  of  her  children.  For  a  few  fears 


30 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


it  may  be  l^elieved  the  Sinclairs  were  happy  people, 
devoted  to  each  other,  and  to  amusements  harmless  in 
themselves  when  kept  under  due  restraint,  but  sapping 
the  energies  and  softening  those  powers  of  the  mind 
which  would  lead  to  active  exertion.  At  the  end  of 
two  years,  the  birth  of  a  little  daughter  was  hailed  with 
the  truest  joy  and  gratitude,  and  the  little  Kate  now 
became  the  charm  of  their  existence  ;  but  when  an¬ 
other,  and  yet  another  little  claimant  on  his  care  hailed 
him  by  the  name  of  father,  poor  Algernon  became  in 
some  measure  alarmed  for  the  future  means  of  pro¬ 
viding  for  so  large  a  family  ;  and  servants  were  one  by 
one  dismissed,  Emily  was  obliged  to  be  much  in  her 
nursery,  and  anxieties  crept  into  the  hearts  of  both  the 
parents. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  services  of  a  middle- 
aged  Irish  woman,  of  the  name  of  J udith  Cassidy,  were 
accepted  as  “  servant  of  all  work,”  and  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Sinclair  retired  into  a  very  small  cottage,  determining 
to  live  for  each  other  only,  and  to  give  up  all  visiting 
and  other  causes  of  expense.  Kate  was  now  six  yea..s 
old,  and  as  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  three  younger  children, 
it  was  needful  to  consider  Kate  as  quite  grown  up 
thus,  at  an  early  age,  she  was  accustomed  to  be  useful, 
and  considerate  of  the  comforts  of  others.  Judith 
Cassidy  was  a  widow,  and  as  she  had  a  little  girl  to 
provide  for,  she  was  truly  glad  to  accept  Mrs.  Sinclair’s 
offer,  and  to  come  with  her  little  “  Honor”  to  take  the 
entire  superintendence  and  business  of  the  already 
large  family.  Plonor  was  clever,  and  her  mother  made 
her  useful  in  many  ways  ;  for  though  only  ten  years 
old,  she  was  quick  and  shrewd — in  short,  a  true  speci- 


li  O  M  E  IS  HOME. 


31 


men  of  an  Irish  woman  in  ininiaturo.  Active  and 
lively,  Mrs.  Sinclair  found  her  eminently  useful  in 
assisting  to  amuse  the  younger  children,  while  she  was 
herself  engaged  in  oth^r  affairs  ;  the  little  menage  of 
her  cottage  required  much  forethought  and  arrange* 
ment,  to  make  their  present  mode  of  life  at  all  toler® 
able  to  her  fastidious,  though  ever  kind  and  atfection- 
ate  husband ;  her  evenings  she  still  devoted  to  him, 
and  as  they  had  retained  their  piano  and  his  violoncello, 
they  passed  many  very  happy  hours,  while  the  little 
ones  slept  in  safety,  guarded  by  the  faithful,  kind  Irish 
woman  and  her  little  girl.  Thus  two  years  glided  by, 
and,  as  in  each  other  they  ever  found  companionship 
and  sympathy,  the  little  trials  produced  by  straitened 
circumstances  were  but  little  felt,  and  for  each  other’s 
sake  were  quietly  and  even  nobly  borne.  Algernon 
was  unwilling  *to  apply  to  his  father  or  brother  fot 
assistance,  lest  they  should  ridicule  his  somewhat  ro¬ 
mantic  and  imprudent  marriage ;  and  this  induced  him 
also  to  withhold  from  all  his  other  friends  in  England 
the  knowledge  of  his  difficulties.  At  the  end  of  about 
three  years.  Captain  Sinclair  was  unexpectedly  re¬ 
lieved  from  this  state  of  almost  poverty,  as  at- that  time 
old  Mr.  Sinclair  died,  and  Algernon,  to  his  great  sur¬ 
prise,  found  that  his  father  had  left  the  greater  part  of 
his  private  property  to  himself  and  Ernest,  who  was 
still  in  India.  This  was  indeed  a  happy  occurrence  for 
the  poor  Sinclairs  ;  and  Algernon  immediately  decided 
on  selling  his  commission,  and  then  returning  to  Eng¬ 
land  to  seek  some  comfortable  and  eligible  home  near 
London — as  he  thought  he  should  there  find  it  more 
easy  to  give  his  children  a  good  education,  and  to 


32 


ll  O  M  is  IS  It  O  M  4 


}3rovide  himself  with  the  means  of  indulging  his  favor¬ 
ite  tastes  and  pursuits.  About  this  time,  too,  a  maiden 
aunt  of  Mrs.  Sinclair’s  died,  and  left  her  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  ;  so  that,  compared  with  their  former 
difficulties,  they  might  now  be  considered  affluent,  and 
they  imagined  that  £800  a  year  would  secure  for  them 
every  comfort,  and  even  luxury.  As  soon  as  possible, 
then,  they  left  Ireland,  taking  with  them  poor  Judith 
and  little  Honor;  and  very  soon  Mr.  Sinclair  took, 
on  a  long  lease,  a  really  pretty  villa,  as  it  was  called, 
near  Brompton,  furnishing  it  handsomely,  and  adding 
many  comforts :  a  bath  room,  a  pretty  conservatory, 
and  many  other  almost  luxuries ;  and  here  for  several 
years  they  Were  very  happy. 

Numerous  servants,  and  a  most  efficient  governess, 
now  relieved  Mrs.  Sinclair  from  all  necessity  for  exer¬ 
tion,  and  she  Was  only  too  happy  to  pass  the  whole  of 
her  time  in  Seeking  to  conduce  to  the  amusement  of  her 
husband ;  and  a  life  of  ease  and  self-indulgence  ill 
prepared  them  for  the  reverse  of  fortune  which  awaited 
them.  His  affairs  were  left  too  much  to  the  care  of 
others,  and  the  income,  which  both  had  thought  so 
ample,  scarcely  provided  all  the  comforts  and  indul¬ 
gences  which  they  now  required.  Charles  was  now  at 
an  age  when  it  was  necessary  to  send  him  to  school ;  and 
here  was  a  new  source  of  expense.  Kate’s  excellent 
governess  was  fully  competent  fo  instruct  the  girls  in 
all  useful  matters,  but  it  was  proper  that  Kate  should 
have  also  the  advantage  of  masters  for  music,  drawing, 
and  languages :  thus,  year  by  year,  expenses  grew,  but 
the  income  did  not  increase.  A  clear  investigation  of 
their  expenditure  had  convinced  Mr.  Binclair  that  they 


HOME  18  HOME. 


33 


were  living  beyond  their  means,  though  with  care  and 
some  retrenchment,  he  believed  they  might  free  them¬ 
selves  from  embarrassment :  yet  it  was  difficult  to  de¬ 
termine  which  should  be  the  luxury  to  be  dispensed 
with.  Still  trifling  efforts  were  made  ;  Kate  was  six¬ 
teen,  so  the  governess  was  dismissed,  and  Kate  under¬ 
took  to  teach  sweet  Emily  and  the  little  “  pet  Rosa 
herself :  one  or  two  servants  were  also  dispensed  with, 
and  Honor  found  herself  exalted  to  the  situation  of  prin¬ 
cipal  housemaid,  though  as  she  still  remained  as  Irish’* 
in  her  speech  as  ever,  Mrs.  Sinclair  did  not  like  her  to 
be  as  much  with  the  young  ladies  as  poor  Honor  wished, 
and  there  was  still  a  young  English  servant  retained 
to  wait  on  “  Miss  Kate”  and  attend  to  the  school-room. 
By  all  these  little  arrangements  Mr.  Sinclair  found,  at 
the  end  of  a  year  and  a  half,  that  he  had  so  far  regulated 
his  expenses  as  to  bring  his  debts  within  compass,  and 
he  hoped  in  a  short  time  to  be  once  more  free  from  pe¬ 
cuniary  difficulties,  more  painful  than  any  others  to  an 
honorable  mind.  In  all  their  anxieties  Kate  was  al¬ 
lowed  the  high  privilege  of  their  entire  confidence ; 
and,  young  as  she  was,  she  was  able  frequently  to  aid 
inem  by  her  judicious  suggestions;  and,  by  her  constant 
exertions,  she  prevented  any  additional  trouble  or  fatigue 
from  falling  on  her  dearly  loved  mother,  who  was  at 
this  time  in  a  very  delicate  state  of  health ;  and  well 
was  she  rewarded  for  all  her  excellent  conduct,  when  she 
received  from  her  dear  parents  their  smiles  of  approba¬ 
tion,  and  saw  them  deriving  comfort  from  her  efforts. 

But  a  heavy  blow  awaited  this  lovely  family.  Mr. 
Sinclair  had  placed  the  whole  of  his  property  in  the 
hands  ^f  a  banker,  who  hacj  always  been  considered  as 


34 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


a  man  of  tlie  highest  probity  and  integrity,  but  \?ho 
had  been  for  some  time  past  suspected  as  rather  a  spe¬ 
culator  ;  and  one  morning,  at  breakfast,  %a  letter  was 
put  into  Mr.  Sinclair’s  hand,  from  his  solicitor,  in  which, 
in  very  guarded  terms,  he  spoke  of  ‘^rumors”  whicli 
were  afloat  on  the  subject  of  embarrassments  which  had 
occurred  to  this  banker,  from  the  loss  of  some  railway 
shares,  and  advising  his  friend  Mr.  Sinclair  to  use  ex¬ 
ertions  instantly  to  rescue  his  property.  The  advice 
came  too  late ;  everything  was  done  that  was  possible, 
but  the  banker’s  name  appeared  the  next  day  in  the 
Gazette,  and  the  poor  Sinclairs  were  irretrievably  ruin¬ 
ed  ;  as  not  only  had  they  lost  the  whole  of  their  pro¬ 
perty,  but  those  debts  which  Algernon  was  really 
striving  and  intending  to  liquidate  speedily,  where  still 
in  array  against  him,  and  must  swallow  up  nearly  the 
whole  that  he  could  realize  by  the  sale  of  everything 
which  belonged  to  him. 

We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  sad  scene  of  distress 
which  followed.  A  sale  was  instantly  decided  upon ; 
servants  were  dismissed,  and  all  but  the  faithful  Honor 
left  them.  It  was  now  that  the  firmness  and  energy  of 
Kate’s  character  were  first  fully  developed,  she  soothed, 
comforted,  and  devised  by  turns,  and  devoted  all  the 
energies  of  her  young  and  active  mind  to  assist  her 
parents  in  forming  and  deciding  on  their  future  plans. 
She  reminded  her  father  that  he  had  a  firm,  though 
somewhat  humble  friend,  an  artist,  whom  he  had  once 
saved  from  great  difficulties,  and  of  his  having  once 
taken  them  to  see  a  curious  old  house  of  his  which  was 
then  uninhabited  ;  and  she  said  she  felt  assured  that,  if 
it  were  still  un+enai  ted,  Mr.  Eveleigh  would  lend  it  to 


HOME  IS  HOME: 


35 


them  until  they  could  make  some  better  and  more  conv 
fortable  arrangement  As  this  really  did  seem  prob¬ 
able,  and  as  Mr.  Sinclair  could  think  of  no  other  plan 
by  which  he  could  ensure  a  temporary  home  for  the 
dear  ones  around  him,  he  wrote  to  his  friend  immedi¬ 
ately,  and  very  soon  received  a  most  kind  and  almost 
affectionate  letter  from  Mr.  Eveleigh,  in  v;hich  he  told 
him,  however,  that  he  was  sorry  to  say  all  the  lower 
part  of  the  house  in  question  was  at  present  occupied ; 
the  ground  floor  had  been  long  the  residence  of  his 
maiden  aunt,  a  Scotch  lady,  and  her  servant ;  the  first 
floor  was  also  let,  but  he  believed  for  a  short  time  only; 
there  was  still  vacant  the  Studio,”  as  he  used  to  call 
it,  and  one  or  two  small  rooms  on  the  same  floor,  and 
if  in  any  way,  or  for  any  purpose,  Mr.  Sinclair  could 
use  them,  he  was  more  than  welcome  to  take  them  into 
his  possession.  This  letter  contained  many  kind  ex¬ 
pressions  of  regret  for  Mr.  Sinclair’s  misfortunes,  and 
an  earnest  wish  that  the  writer  could  in  the.  smallest 
degree  contribute  to  the  comfort  or  advantage  of  his 
former  benefactor. 

After  much  deliberation,  it  was  determined  that 
the  family  should  all  find  shelter  in  the  poor  abode  thus 
kindly  offered,  and  seclude  themselves  from  all  obser¬ 
vation  till  the  sale  had  taken  place,  and  some  plan  could 
be  decided  upon  for  their  future  subsistence.  With  a 
sad  heart  poor  Kate  made  all  the  needful  preparations 
for  their  departure.  Nothing  was  omitted,  and  the 
little  ones  were  dismissed  with  very  many  cautions  to 
be  considerate,  and  give  no  trouble  ;  and  they,  with 
trembling  eagerness,  had  assured  dear  “  Katie”  that 
they  would  try  to  take  care  of  dear  papa  and  mamma” 


36 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


till  she  could  once  more  be  by  their  side ;  and  then 
Honor  came^  and  led  them  down  to  join  their  parents, 
telling  them,  as  they  for  the  last  time  descended  the 
stairs,  that  “  sure  she  would  come  and  see  them  to¬ 
morrow,  and  they  would  be  all  as  happy  as  birds but 
the  poor  girl  had  no  joy  in  her  voice,  and  the  wondering 
children  could  not  think  why  everybody  seemed  so  un- 
happy.  Poor  Kate  watched  the  receding  carriage  which 
conveyed  her  sad  and  sorrowing  parents  from  their 
once  happy  home,  and  when  they  were  really  gone,  she 
returned  to  her  own  little  bed-room,  and  closing  the 
door,  knelt  for  a  long  time  in  silent  prayer  to  that 
heavenly  Father  who  doth  not  willingly  afflict  his  chil¬ 
dren,  and  she  felt  that  doubtless  this  was  a  needful 
trial  of  their  faith.  She  humbly  prayed  for  strength 
and  patience  to  meet  “  her  Father’s”  will  in  this  and 
every  trial,  and  arose  strengthened  and  refreshed,  and 
calling  the  faithful  Honor  to  assist  her,  employed  her¬ 
self  busily  and  usefully  all  that  day  and  the  next  in 
preparing  everything  that  was  necessary  for  the  sale, 
which  was  to  take  place  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day  from  the  time  of  the  departure  of  her  parents. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


It  was  still  dark,  and  a  thick,  cold  misty  rain  was  fall¬ 
ing,  rendering  everything,  both  within  and  without  the 
house,  damp  and  cheerless,  when  Honor,  in  obedience  to 
her  young  lady’s  directions  on  the  preceding  evening, 
approached  with  gentle  steps  her  chamber-door,  hoping 
she  might  yet  be  sleeping,  and  in  such  case  determining 
not  to  awaken  her.  She  listened  attentively  for  a  mo¬ 
ment,  when,  on  hearing  Kate  in  her  cheerful  voice  de¬ 
mand  who  was  waiting,  she  entered  and  said,  “  It’s  me^ 
Miss  Kate,  and  I’ve  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  ye 
some  warm  tay,  an’  a  little  thrifle  of  toast,  for  it’s  kilt 
ye’d  be  entirely  wid  the  cowld  of  this  dark  onchristian- 
like  morning,  fetchin  ye  up  before  there’s  a  light  in  the 
hivens,  when  it’s  pouring  the  drizzling  rain  is,  and 
there’s  fog  enough  to  choke  ye ;  so  now  I  hope,  my 
dear  young  lady,  ye’ll  try  to  ate  a  l^t,  and  kep  the 
cowld  from  yer  heart.”  Kate  rewarded  her  kind  at¬ 
tendant  with  a  smile,  and  readily  accepted  the  offered 
refreshment,  for  she  felt  how  very  needful  it  was  to  use 
everj  means  of  strengthening  herself,  and  preparing  for 
the  painful  duties  which  she  knew  awaited  her.  Whilst 
she  sat  up  in  her  little  bed  to  take  her  tea.  Honor 
lighted  the  fire,  and  its  cheerful  blaze  soon  dissipated 
the  gloom  and  darkness  of  the  chamber,  and  sent  a 


H  O  E  IS  HOME. 


feeling  of  almost  cheerfulness  into  the  hearts  of  its 
young  inmates.  While  Honor  was  thus  occupied,  Kate 
said,  “  How  very  kind  and  thoughtful  it  was  of  you, 
my  good  Honor,  to  think  of  bringing  me  this  nice 
breakfast,  and  without  direction,  too  !  it  was  really  very 
considerate  of  you and  Kate’s  kind  face  was  turned 
towards  her  young  attendant  with  an  approving ^ginile 

Honor  paused  in  her  employment ;  then,  standing 
up,  with  her  bright  sunny  face  glowing  with  enthusiasm, 
she  said;  Oh,  Miss  Kate,  is  it  kind  ye  think  me  ? 
And  whare  will  I  have  larnt  sich  a  lesson,  but  only  from 
yer  own  sweet  self?  Who  was  it  that  cam  to  my  bed¬ 
side,  an  I  thin  but  a  bit  of  a  girl  in  the  house,  and  stood 
by  me,  an  comforted  me  in  my  thrubble  and  sorrow,  the 
saddest  day  of  all  my  life,  and  spoke  the  swate  words 
of  Christian  consolation  ?  An  when  ye  seen  me  com¬ 
forted  like,  3m  Torought  me  the  warm  wine  and  the  bit  0’ 
bread,  and  niver  left  me,  till  ye  seen  me  sink  into  the  . 
quiet  sleep,  and  for  a  time  forget  my  dear  kind  mother, 
that  had  just  been  taken  to  glor}^ !  May  the  Lord  rest 
her  soul  in  hivvin  !  Amen.  Sure  I’d  be  worse  nor 
the  bastes  of  the  ’artli,  could  I  iver  forgit  that  day",  or 
forsake  ye,  if  I  could  be  allowed  the  blessing  of  being 
near  ye  1” 

This  sudden  burst  of  gratitude,  so  tenderly  express¬ 
ed,  for  a  trifling  kindness,  which  had  long  since  passed 
from  Kate’s  memory,  occasioned  her  some  emotion  ;  but,, 
thinking  it  better  to  avoid  any  further  excitement  of 
her  feelings,  at  a  moment  when  she  required  all  her 
firmness  and  energy,  she  gently  dismissed  Honor,  tell¬ 
ing  her  that  she  must  now  go,  and  get  her  own  break¬ 
fast,  as  doubtless  there  would  be  some  arrivals  of  peo- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


39 


pie  wishing  to  inspect  the  furniture,  as  soon  as  it  was 
sufficiently  light  for  them  to  do  so.  Honor  therefore 
departed,  and  Kate,  having  hastily  made  her  morning 
toilet,  quietly  seated  herself,  and  sought  by  reading 
'  and  prayer,  to  fit  herself  for  the  trials  of  the  coming 
day.  She  then  wrote  to  her  dear  parents,  assuring  them 
that  she  was  well,  and  cheerful,  and  quite  equal  to  all 
her  duties,  &c,,  &c.  At  nine  o’clock.  Honor  came  to 
tell  her  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  speak  to  her  in  the 
library.  She  instantly  obeyed  the  summons,  and  to 
her  great  and  pleased  surprise,  found  Mr.  Pleydell,  her 
father’s  solicitor,  waiting  to  receive  her.  He  came  for¬ 
ward  with  a  calm  and  business-like  manner,  and  as¬ 
sumed  as  much  as  possible  his  usual  demeanor  and  ad¬ 
dress  ;  bowed  to  Miss  Sinclair,  and  asked  for  her  fam¬ 
ily;  but  he  was  evidently  agitated,  shocked  at  the  state 
of  the  house,  and  pained  at  beholding  the  sad  change 
which  had  taken  place  since  he  had  last  been  seated  by 
Mr.  Sinclair’s  side  in  that  once  comfortable  room.  Mr. 
Pleydell  was  a  very  worthy,  kind-hearted  man,  and  it 
was  with  much  feeling  that  he  explained  to  Kate  that, 
but  for  his  unavoidable  absence,  occasioned  by  business 
which  had  detained  him  in  Ireland,  he  should  have  be¬ 
fore  offered  his  services  in  the  arrangement  of  Mr.  Sin¬ 
clair’s  affairs.  And  he  now  begged  her  to  allow  him  as  a 
friend  to  make  himself  useful  in  any  way  that  would 
most  relieve  her  from  fatigue  and  trouble.  Kate 
thankfully  accepted  this  kind  offer,  and  explained  ,  to 
Mr.  Pleydell,  that,  in  consequence  of  her  dear  mother’s 
great  indisposition,  she  had  prevailed  on  her  father  to 
accompany  her  to  their  lodgings,  and  to  allow  her  and 
a  servant  to  remain  in  the  house,  in  case  her  px’esence 


40 


HOME  IS  HOME 


should  be  necessary :  but  she  added,  I  do  not  intend 
to  leave  my  room  during  the  time  of  the  sale.  And  I 
really  shall  feel  much  obliged,  if  you  will  stay  here  for 
a  few  hours,  and  release  me  from  responsibility.” 

“  That  I  will  do  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  my  dear 
young  lady,  and  I  hope  I  shall  hear  that  you  are  taking 
care  of  yourself  and  avoiding  all  unnecessary  fatigue, 
for  you  look  sadly  pale  and  worn.” 

At  parting,  Mr.  Pleydell  offered  his  Tiand  to  Kate, 
and  she  gratefully  returned  its  kind  and  friendly  pres¬ 
sure,  for  her  little  interview  with  him  had  greatly 
cheered  and  comforted  her,  and  she  returned  to  her 
room  with  a  heart  lightened  of  much  of  its  anxiety. 
On  the  stairs  she  passed  a  singular-looking  old  gentle¬ 
man  ;  he  was  dressed  in  a  brown  great-coat,  with  a 
great,  deal  of  velvet  collar  and  cuff,  and  ati  immense 
amount  of  comforter  and  collar  about  his  throat :  he 
had  a  gold-headed  stick  in  his  hand,  and  a  hat  which 
was  rather  lower  in  the  crown  and  broader  in  the  brim 
than  was  generally  worn  by  gentlemen  even  of  his  age  ; 
his  hair,  which  was  of  silvery  whiteness  and  of  unusual 
length,  fell  in  soft  curls,  an^  partially  .concealed  his 
still  fine  contour  and  features  ;  he  was  most  scrupu¬ 
lously  neat,  and  having  laid  aside  his  goloshes  at  the 
entrance  door,  his  shoes  were  bright  and  shining  as 
when  they  had  been  placed  by  the  fire  of  his  morning 
room,;  his  step  was  slow  and  his  head  bent  as  if  in  pain¬ 
ful  thought,  but,  on  hearing  Kate’s  light  step  on  the 
stairs  behind  him,  he  turned,  and  looking  at  her  earn¬ 
estly  with  his  dark,  bright,  eagle  eyes,  he  said,  “  Oh  I 
Miss  Sinclair,  I  suppose  ?  I  am  not  an  intruder  here, 
young  lady,  hey  ?  I  suppose  I  can  see  this  villa^  hey  ? 


ts  iioMl:. 


41 


can’t  I  His  rougli  voice  and  short  abrupt  mannef 
alarmed  poor  Kate,  and  her  before  pale  cheeks  were 
lighted  by  a  sudden  flash  of  crimson,  as  she  listened  to 
the  churlish  stranger’s  address ;  yet  no  feeling  of  anger 
or  hasty  pride  dictated  her  answer  ;  she  saw  and  felt,  in 
an  instant,  that  albeit  rough  in  manner,  this  was  a  gem 
tleman,  and  one  whose  years  demanded  respect ;  and 
allowance  was  instantly  made  in  her  candid  mind  for 
his  defects  of  manner :  kindly  assuring  him,  therefore, 
that  he  was  quite  at  liberty  to  see  any  part  of  the 
house,  and  calling  Honor,  who  was  in  the  vestibule  be¬ 
low,  she  told  her  to  accompany  the  stranger,  and  passed 
on  to  her  own  little  room. 

The  old  gentleman,  however,  gazed  after  her,  and 
uttered  some  short  and  apparently  cross  and  rough  re¬ 
mark,  which  affronted  Honor  most  thoroughly,  and  it 
was  with  a  hasty  step  and  flashing  eye  that  she  brushed 
by  him  in  order  to  open  the  door  of  the  first  room  at 
the  right  hand  on  the  landing :  this  was  a  very  nice 
and  comfortably  arranged  sleeping-apartment,  and  had 
a  dressing-room  within.  Every  thing  was  good  and 
handsome  of  its  kind,  but  even  the  churlish  Mr.  Crosby 
did  not  detect  aught  that  bespoke  a  mere  idle  taste  for 
luxury  or  expenditure :  he  staid  not  long,  however, 
here,  and  silently  he  followed  Honor  as  she  preceded 
him  from  room  to  room,  and  waited  while  he  from  time 
to  time  marked  the  catalogue  which  he  held  in  his 
hand.  This  silence  in  some  measure  tended  to  allay 
poor  Honor’s  too  hasty  anger,  and  “  afther  all,”  thought 
she,  p’raps  I  might  mistake  his  intintion,  for  he’s 
likely  to  be  a  good  purchaser,  anyhow.”  They  now  pro¬ 
ceeded  down  a  light  passage  leading  from  the  principal 


42 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


sleeping-apartments,  at  the  end  of  which  Honor  threw 
open  a  door  ;  but  it  was  more  than  her  kind  heart  could 
bear,  to  see  this  room  approached  by  strangers’  steps, 
and  on  such  an  errand  ;  it  -was  the  room  which  had 
always  been  known  aa  the  nurseryf  ’  and  here,  in  their 
two  little  snow-white  beds,  she  had  been  used  each  night 
to  gaze  on  the  loved  faces  of  the  two  sweet  darlings  who 
were  so  very  dear  to  her,  and  now^  as  she  thought,  “per¬ 
haps  they  will  not  have  where  to  lay  their  sweet,  inno¬ 
cent  heads,”  the  thought  quite  overpowered  her,  and 
covering  her  face  v/ith  her  hands,  regardless  of  the  pre¬ 
sence  of  the  rough  stranger,  she  burst  forth  in  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  her  country,  and  in  a  sort  of  wailing  voice  she 
said,  “  Ochone,  thin  my  precious  ones,  you’re  gone  !  and 
the  stranger  will  take  possession,  and  it’s  yer  home 
that’ll  be  rendered  dissolate — ochone  !  ochone  !”  and 
the  sobs  which  impeded  further  utterance  gave  evi¬ 
dence  of  the  strong  affection  and  sorrow  which  had 
occasioned  this  pfiL3sionate  outbreak  of  feeling. 

For  a  few  moments  her  companion  was  silent,  only 
ejaculating  an  occasional  “  Pshaw  !”  “  Kidiculous  1” 
“  Absurd  !”  and  walking  hastily  to  the  window,  he  pre¬ 
tended  to  be  looking  out  at  the  view  ;  perhaps  he  par¬ 
ticularly  admired  and  liked  a  murky  atmosphere,  and 
thought  the  thick,  yellow  fog  quite  suitable  to  the  occa¬ 
sion,  for  he  did  not  turn  his  head  for  some  time ;  he 
felt  it  cold,  too,  at  all  events,  for  his  handkerchief  was 
more  than  once  in  requisition.  However  that  might  be, 
he  spoke  in  his  usual  churlish,  gruff  voice,  when  he  said, 
“  Come,  come,  foolish  girl !  don’t  cry,  don’t  make  a 
scene,  for  I  hate  all  scenes.  What,  hey  ?  you  liked 
these  foolish  people,  I  suppose,  hey  ?” 


Poor  Honor  cliecked  her  tears,  and  said,  ‘‘Ah  !  ia 
it  liked ^  ye  ask  ?  Ay,  may  he  I  did,  hut  I  love  thim 
now  in  my  heart’s  core,  so  now  don’t  be  thrubbling  me 
wid  the  questions ;  for  I’m  ready  and  able  to  attind 
ye,  and  I  ask  yer  pardon  intirely,  for  I’m  always  sadlj 
bothered  wid  thim  tazing  tares.” 

All  this  time  Honor  was  leading  him  as  quickly  as 
possible  from  the  scene  of  her  distress,  and  conducting 
him  up  another  flight  of  stairs,  where  several  inferior 
rooms  were  passed  without  remark;  till,  at  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  house,  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  tne 
rooms  occupied  by  the  family,  she  suddenly  turned 
round  and  said,  “  In  here,  sir,  plaze  ;  this  is  Masther 
Charles’  own  workshop,  an’  I  thought  as  ye  seemed 
curious  like,  p’raps  ye  might  like  to  see  some  of  his  in¬ 
genuity.” 

The  room  tliey  entered  was  a'  small  one,  and  lighted 
from  above  by  a  skylight ;  it  was  evidently  the  favor¬ 
ite  resort  of  some  young  and  ingenious  boy,  who  in  his 
leisure  hours  devoted  his  time  to  mechanical  and  even 
scientiiic  pursuits.  An  electrical  machine,  a  turning 
lathe,  an  apparatus  for  chemical  experiments  ;  and  a 
carpenter’s  bench,  with  tools,  formed  some  of  the  con¬ 
tents  of  this  room,  which  bore  on  its  door  a  large  white  pla¬ 
card  inscribed,  “  Charles’  Hen  ;  none  admitted  here  except 
on  particular  business.”  Again  Honor’s  courage  had 
nearly  failed  her,  but  she  made  a  sudden  dart  at  the 
card  on  the  door,  and  hastily  tearing  it  down  pushed  it 
into  her  pocket,  hoping  it  had  escaped  the  stranger’s 
notice,  for,  as  she  afterwards  said,  “II  ft  it  there  un¬ 
knowns!,  bad  manners  to  me,  that  I’d  iet  the  stranger 
Bee  ^he  dear  boy’s  little  droll  ways.”  She  need  not, 


44 


HOME  is  HOMEk 


however,  have  given  herself  this  trouble*  for  Mh 
Crosby’s  eagle  eye  had  seen  and  read  the  inscription ; 
and  again  he  had  found  it  “  very  cold.”  At  this  moment 
Hono;;  was  loudly  called,  but  she  would  not  hear  till 
she  had  exhibited  more  than  one  pretty  specimen  of 
Charles’  skill  in  the. use  of  his  little  turning  lathe;  a 
pretty  box  which  she  took  from  her  pocket,  and  which, 
she  said,  was  a  present  to  her  from  “  Master  Charles,’* 
and  a  little  set  of  unfinished  chessmen  which  were  in¬ 
tended  for  his  mother,  but  being  left  in  a  box  with  other 
matters  bore  the  fatal  lot  mark,  were  all  she  could  find  ; 
and,  on  hearing  herself  again  called,  she  asked  Mr.  Cros¬ 
by  if  he  could  find  his  way  down  stairs,  as  she  must 
run  for  her  dear  life,”  and  left  him  alone  to  inspect 
whatever  else  he  might  deem  worthy  of  notice.  He 
stood  some  time  in  silent  contemplation,  and  a  heavy 
sigh  escaped  him ;  but,  rousing  himself  by  a  sudden 
effort,  he  denounced  himself  as  an  “  old  fool,  ridiculous 
and  childish,”  and  hastily  left  the  room,  muttering  as 
he  wAit,  “  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  !  all  right  I  dare  say,  but  why 
io  people  indulge  their  children  in  all  their  whims  in 
this  way  ?  Nonsense  I  nonsense  !” 

Having  by  this  time  reached  the  first  landing-place, 
he  looked  about,  and  seeing  a  door  partly  opened,  he 
said,  “  I  don’t  think  I  saw  that  room  just  now,  let’s 
see,  let’s  see  and  with  the  end  of  his  walking  stick 
ho  pushed  the  door  in  question  back  to  its  farthest 
limits ;  but  to  his  great  surprise  he  saw  that  it  was  not 
prepared  for  the  inspection  of  the  public,  like  the  other 
parts  of  the  house,  but  bore  every  mark  of  being  oc¬ 
cupied  as  usual  by  some  member  of  the  family.  A 
bright  fire  burnt  in  the  grate,  and  cn  the  rug  before  it 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


45 


laj  a  beautiful  small  Italian  greyhound ;  a  pretty  writ¬ 
ing-table  was  drawn  up  close  to  the  fire,  and  by  its  side 
was  placed  a  little  ornamental  chair  of  light  material. 
An  elegantly  furnished  French  bed  stood  on  the  fur¬ 
thest  side  of  the  room,  and  a  pretty  small-patterned 
Brussels  carpet  covered  the  fioor ;  the  walls  were  papered 
with  a  white  watered  paper,  and  a  small  gold  mould¬ 
ing  ran  round  the  top  of  the  room  next  the  ceiling ; 
some  clever  drawings  in  water  colors,  books  in  a  small 
chiffonier,  and  many  other  useful  and  ornamental  ap¬ 
pointments  gave  to  this  room  a  remarkable  air  of 
comfort,  and  excited  much  curiosity  in  the  mind  of  its 
intruding  visitor ;  and  when  Kate’s  silvery  voice  was 
heard,  speaking  in  a  low  tone  to  Honor,  and  immediately 
followed  by  her  entering  the  room,  and  walking  forward 
to  her  writing-table  without  perceiving  that  her  apart¬ 
ment  was*  pre-occupied,  the  old  gentleman  felt  quite 
abashed  at  his  intrusion,  and  knew  not  how  to  call  her 
attention  to  his  presence  without  startling  her ;  in  a 
moment,  however,  she  looked  up,  and  seeing  a  stranger, 
felt  inclined  to  retrace  her  steps  and  leave  the  room ; 
but  Mr.  Crosby  said,  with  some  warmth,  “  Young  lady, 
I  beg  your  pardon,  I  ought  not  to  be  here,”  and  bowing 
with  really  polite  and  gentlemanly  courtesy,  he  left  the 
room. 

This  would  be  an  excellent  opportunity  for  describ¬ 
ing  our  young  heroine’s  appearance,  but  as  no  two  per¬ 
sons  agree  as  to  what  is  pleasing,  pretty,  or  even  pre¬ 
possessing,  we  dismiss  the  subject,  and  leave  to  each 
and  every  one  of  our  readers  our  free  permission  to 
paint  the  portrait  in  any  colors  that  may  best  please 
his  or  her  fancy  anj*!  imagination ;  suffice  it,  that  she 


46 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


was  fail  and  gentle,  and  that  her  countenance  bore  the 
impress  of  the  mind  within,  in  beauty  whose  source 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

It  was  now  ten  o’clock,  and  Mr.  Parties  the  auction¬ 
eer  was  taking  his  seat  upon  a  raised  sort  of  platform 
at  the  end  of  the  dining-room,  which,  being  large  and 
commodious,  had  been  selected  for  the  auction-room. 
Mr.  Parties  was  fat,  and  rather  short,  with  a  thick 
husky  voice  and  bustling  manner;  he  wore  on  the 
present  occasion  a  blue  coat,  with  a  great  deal  of  white 
about  his  throat ;  his  collars  came  very  high  on  his 
cheek,  and  his  hair,  which  was  iron  grey,  was  brushed 
so  as  to  add  as  much  a‘s  possible  to  his  altitude ;  and, 
as  if  to  prevent  its  ever  falling  into  its  natural  place, 
Mr.  Parties  constantly  pushed  his  fingers  through  it, 
and  forced  it  to  stand  erect,  “  like  quills  upon  the  fret¬ 
ful  porcupine.”  Mr.  Parties  called  about  him,  too,  in  a 
tone  of  authority,  and  directed  every  body  with  an  air 
of  almost  magisterial  importance ;  his  hammer  was  laid 
by  his  side,  and  one  of  his  men  stood  by  him  to  obey 
every  nod  of  the  great  man  of  the  day. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  in  full  view  of  Mr.  Par¬ 
ties,  but  as  much  as  possible  concealed  from  the  obser¬ 
vation  of  all  others,  sat  a  thin,  pale  woman  in  a  scanty 
suit  of  dingy  well-worn  black,  with  a  small  pinched  up 
bonnet,  over  which  .was  thrown  a  rusty  black  veil,  she 
wore  large  gloves  of  black  cloth,  and  wide  shoes  with 
dirty  white  stockings :  and  Honor  remarked,  ‘‘  What 
did  she  come  for  to  such  a  house  as  that,  at  all  ? — if 
she  wanted  to  furnish  her  house,  shure  it  would  not  bo 
here  she’d  meet  wid  a  chimney  corner.” 

Well,  there  sb?  sat,  however,  and  greatly  was  IIou- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


47 


or’s  surprise  increased,  when  she  saw  Mr.  Crosby  beck¬ 
on  to  her,  and  take  her.  aside  into  a  dark  corner  of  the 
room,  to  talk  as  it  seemed  quite  “  confidenshell  like.” 
However,  she  had  no  time  for  much  speculation  just 
then,  for  who  should  come  into  the  sale-room  but  Rory, 
her  own  handsome  Rory,  with  his  bright  cheeks  and 
coal-black  hair,  dressed  in  his  “  Sunday  vest”  too,  and 
with  a  smart  3^ellow  silk  neckerchief  round  his  throat  : 
as  he  passed  H  onor  he  gave  her  a  sly  look,  and  said, 
“  The  top  of  the  morning  to  ye,  Miss  Honor,  ye  see 
IVe  kept  my  tryst ;”  and  he  contrived  to  give  her  a 
peep  at  the  little  purse,  and  then  with  a  caper  ho 
dashed  by  her,  and  took  his  seat  as  near  as  possible  tc 
the  auctioneer,  who  was  just  calling  the  attention  of 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen”  before  him. 

The  room  filled  fast,  and  despite  the  fog  and  cold 
without,  it  soon  became  close  and  warm  in  the  well- 
packed  auction-room.  More  people,  and  more  arrived^ 
and  some  from  idleness,  others  from  curiosity,  crowded 
and  pushed,  and  talked^  and  speculated,  and  in  a  lively 
manner  represented  the  sale-going”  public  of  the  day. 
We- will  not  follow  Mr.  Parties  through  the  whole  of 
his  day’s  bustle  and  fatigue,  but  will  content  our  read¬ 
ers  with  telling  them,  that  the  rumors  afioat  in  the 
crowd  were,  that  things  were  selling  well”  and  “  that 
everything  was  too  dear  for  them?^  Be  that  as  it  might 
Mr.  Parties  declared  that  it  was  a  shame,  that  he  was 
giving  away  the  goods  of  his  employer”  and  that  ‘‘every¬ 
thing  he  sold  was  indeed  a  bargain.”  The  little  wo¬ 
man  in  black,  who  rejoiced  in  the  came  of  Mrs.  Bundy, 
bought  “  everything,”  as  Roiy  tola  Honor,  “  what  could 


48 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


slie  be  thinking  on,  the  craythur,  and  where  would  fihe 
be  getting  the  money  to  pay  for  it  all 

At  last  poor  Kate^s  little  work-box  was  placed  be* 
fore  the  auctioneer;  “lot  105,”  a  beautiful  inlaid  box, 
intended  for  a  lady’s  work-box.  Rory  started  forward, 
and  was  on  the- point  of  offering  all  he  had  in  the  wide 
world  for  that  blessed  box ;  but  Honor  held  him  back. 
“  Whisht,  ye’ll  get  it  cheap,  wait  a  bit,  for  its  mostly 
men  they  are,  an’  they’ll  not  be  wanting  the  bit  work- 
box.”  And  Honor  was  right,  for  as  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  purchasers  were  absent,  they  did  not 
of  course  teaze  their  “  good  men”  to  buy  such  “  easily 
done  without”  articles,  and  after  a  few  biddings,  Rory 
was  declared  the  happy  owner  of  the  box,  at  “  the  price? 
the  low  price,”  of  £1  IO5.  and  it  was  as  instantly  taken 
possession  of  by  Rory  as  if  he  had  been  a  young  lady 
of  fourteen,  with  her  first  prize  at  school.  He  whisper¬ 
ed  to  Mr.  Parties  that  he  was  “  quite  intirely  obleeged 
to  him,”  and  that  he  should  “  like  to  pay  for  it  directly 
if  he  pleased  ;”  but  to  his  surprise  Mr.  Parties  told  him, 
in  his  grandest  manner,  “  that  he  was  astonished  at  his 
intruding  his  petty  affairs  at  such  a  moment,”  and  that 
he  must  “  set  down  !  and  not  interrupt  the  sale.”  Poor 
Rory  hid  his  diminished  head,  and  felt  quite  ashamed 
of  himself,  and  very  angry  indeed  with  that  rude  spal¬ 
peen  Mr.  Parties. 


CHAPTER  V- 


All.  day,  all  day,  poor  Kate  listened  to  tie  sounds  be¬ 
low,  so  fraught  with  care  and  sorrow  to  her  young  and 
affectionate  heart;  the  strange  voices,  the  occasional 
burst  of  rude  laughter,  the  auctioneer’s  husky  voice,  the 
sound  of  his  hammer,  followed  by  the  word  “  gone,” 
brought  forcibly  before  her  the  sad  reality,  that  in  a 
few  more  hours  all  would  be  dispersed,  and  all  the  com¬ 
forts  by  which  she  was  surrounded  must,  by  strangers’ 
hands  be  taken  to  adorn  aud  beautify  dwellings  she 
might  never  see ;  while  her  dear,  dear  parents  would 
be  without  the  necessaries  for  their  daily  use  or  comfort. 
At  times  her  head  sunk  upon  her  breast,  and  she  wept 
in  silence  ;  then,  rousing  herself,  she  would  blush  at  her 
repining  spirit,  and  feel  that  her  trust  was  placed  in 
One  who  could,  and  doubtless  would  order  all  things 
for  their  good.  She  prayed  earnestly  for  strength  to 
meet  this  painful  trial.  From  time  to  time  Mr.  Pley- 
dell  sent  to  ask  to  speak  to  her,  sometimes  merely  from 
the  kind  wish  of  cheering  her ;  and  in  this  he  really 
succeeded  beyond  his  expectations,  as  ho  found  Kate 
so  easily  led  to  hope,  so  anxious  to  throw  aside  her 
more  selfish  regrets,  and  so  grateful  for  the  smallest 
kindness,  that  he  had  no  difficult  task  in  turning  her 
thoughts  to  subjects  on  vjhich  she  could  dwell  without 

a 


50 


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pain ;  he  kindly  insisted  an  her  taking  some  needful 
refreshment,  and  then  induced  her  to  promise  to  go  on 
the  following  morning  to  join  her  parents,  assuring  her 
that  he  would  remain  in  the  house  all  day,  to  direct 
Honor  in  the  discharge  of  her  duties,  and  to  make 
every  needful  arrangement  with  the  auctioneer ;  add¬ 
ing,  ‘‘  And  now,  my  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  will  you  tell  me 
how  1  may  best  assist  you  when  thfs  sale  is  completed } 

I  will,  if  you  please,  act  as  your  father’s  agent,  and  uso 
my  best  endeavors  in  the  arrangement  of  his  aiffairs ; 
but  this  must  indeed  be  as  a  friend^  for  in  no  other  way 
can  I  offer  my  services no  thanks,  no  thanks,  I  beg 
and  the  kind-hearted  man  escaped  as  quickly  as  possi¬ 
ble,  that  he  might  avoid  the  expression  of  gratitude 
which  already  beamed  in  the  sweet  face  before  him. 

Kate  was  in  truth  most  glad  to  be  released  from 
her  present  painful  situation,  now  that  ehe  felt  she 
could  leave  her  father’s  affairs  in  such  safe  hands  ; 
but  she  despatched  a  note  to  him,  to  ask  him  whether  ^ 
be  would  be  satisfied  with  such  an  arrangement,  and 
requesting  that  Charles  might  come  in  the  morning  to 
accompany  her  in  her  little  journey.  This  done,  Kate 
called  Honor  to  assist  her  in  putting  up  such  articles 
of  clothing  and  bed  linen  as  she  had  retained  for  their 
use.  and  added  such  few  stores  as  remained  in  the 
house  ;  feeling  assured  they  would  find  much  difficulty 
in  procuring  even  the  commonest  necessaries  of  life : 
and  now  the  question  arose  as  to  what  was  to  become  of 
poor  Fido,  her  favorite  Italian  greyhound.  Honor 
in  vain  suggested  Shure  it  will  be  all  the  comfort 
in  life  to  the  little  ones,”  and  “  it  will  not  be  much 
the  crature  will  thrubble  ye.  Miss,  for  he’ll  be  under 


^  o  M  te  t  s  it  O  M  E . 


SI 


my  care  intirely for  Kate  felt  that  it  would,  perhaps, 
occasion  some  inconvenience  to  all  in  the  small  apart* 
ments  they  would  occupy,  and  she  decided  on  sending 
Honor  with  it  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  the  wife  of  the  book* 
seller,  asking  her  to  take  charge  of  it  until  she  could 
decide  on  some  other  plan.  Having  then  caressed 
her  little  favorite,  ^and  given  Honor  all  needful  direc¬ 
tions,  she  wrote  a  little  note  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  who  had 
shown  a  gentle,  kind  interest  in  their  distress,  and 
despatched  Honor,  with  Fido  following  her ;  and  then, 
having  fastened  the  door,  she  returned  to  her  room  and 
occupied  herself  busily.  Honor  meanwhile  pursued 
her  way*  to  the  street  in  which  Mr.  Dalton  lived,  and 
Fido,  who  had  for  some  days  been  living  in  enforced 
seclusion,  now  darted  from  place  to  place  with  the  most 
violent  energy  of  delight ;  round  and  round  Honor 
he  frisked,  now  between  her  feet,  now  up  to  her 
shoulder,  now  gracefully  springing  forward,  then  re¬ 
turning  to  kiss  the  hand  which  hung  by  her  side. 
“  Down,  down,  Fido  ;  shure  yci*  an  ungrateful,  unman¬ 
nerly  baste,  to  make  yerself  as  continted  with  me  as 
though  ’twas  Miss  Kate  herself.  Asy,  asy,  Fido; 
you’ve  no  great  cause,  I’m  thinking,  for  your  fun  jist 
now.”  When  they  reached  Mr.  Dalton’s  house.  Honor 
stepped  into  the  shop,  where  the  good  bookseller  was, 
as  usual,  stationed  behind  his  counter ;  and  by  the  fire, 
as  usual  also,  stood  our  old  friend,  Mr.  Crosby,  warm¬ 
ing  the  gloved  hands,  which  were  held  behind  him,  and 
looking  about  with  his  usual  sardonic  expression  of 
countenance :  but  on  seeing  Honor  with  Fido  follow¬ 
ing  her,  he  was  evidently  moved  by  some  unusal  cu" 
riosity,  which  was  not,  however,  immediately  gratified. 


Honor  spoke  a  word,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Mr.  HaltoHi 
who  said  in  reply,  “  Certainly,  go  in,  my  good  girl, 
Mrs.  Dalton  is  in  here and,  opening  the  door,  which 
led  to  his  sitting  room  behind  the  shop.  Honor  entered, 
calling  to  Fido  to  follow  her,  and  as  the  door  was  in¬ 
stantly  closed,  Mr.  Crosby  could  not,  without  asking 
questions,  make  out  the  object  of  her  mission,  so  he 
resolved  to  remain,  and  see  what  might  be  the  result 
of  her  visit  at  this  late  hour  in  the  evening,  for  it  was 
now  near  seven  o’clock.  Mrs.  Dalton  was  not  in  the 
parlor  when  Honor  first  entered  it ;  but,  with  his  back 
to  the  door  and  seated  in  his  high  chair,  was  her  little 
boy,  engaged  with  some  playthings :  he  most  joyously 
greeted  Honor  and  the  pretty  Fido ;  and  when  his 
niother  came  in,  Willie  was  seated  on  the  rug,  with  his 
fat  arms  round  Fido’s  neck.  This,  of  course,  delighted 
Mrs.  Dalton,  and,  on  reading  Kate’s  little  note,  it  was 
with  no  small  pleasure  that  she  called  Mr.  Dalton,  to 
consult  him  as  to  what  answer  she  would  send  Miss 
Sinclair,  quite  sure  that  her  kind  husband  would  gladly 
consent  to  an  arrangement  so  agreeable  to  all  the  pat¬ 
ties  concerned.  Mr.  Dalton  was  delighted  to  be  able 
to  oblige  Miss  Sinclair,  and  told  Honor  that  he  would 
undertake  the  charge  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and 
that  at  any  time,  when  it  was  requested,  Fido  should 
return  to  her  former  mistress.  Poor  Honor  had  been 
sadly  plagued  ‘^wi’  thim  fools  of  tares,”  and  she  had 
scarcely  spoken  since  she  arrived ;  now,  however,  she 
made  an  eflTort  to  thank  Mrs.  Dalton  in  her  young 
lady’s  name,  and  then,  stooping  down,  she  lovingly 
fondled  and  caressed  the  little  favorite,  and  bidding 
them  all  a  hasty  farewell,  was  departing.  The  door, 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


53 


which  she  held  half  open  in  her  hand,  ohsciired  the 
shop,  and  she  did  not  see  the  old  gentleman,  who  still 
stood  there  while  she  uttered  her  parting  words  of 
thanks.  “  I’m  intirely  obliged  to  ye,  not  only  for  Miss 
Kate,  but  for  your  kind  looks  at  me,  and  poor  Fido ; 
an  the  loss  of  the  poor  baste  will  be  lessened,  now  that 
my  young  lady  will  know  that  the  dear  little  boy  will 
make  much  of  it ;  and  so,  good  night  to  ye  all.”  And 
Honor  hurried  away  to  give  her  young  mistress  an 
account  of  what  had  passed. 

Mr.  Dalton  then  returned  to  his  place  behind  the 
counter.  Mr.  Crosby  looked  at  him  askance,  then 
turned  slowly,  and  looked  into  the  fire ;  turning  as  on 
a  pivot,  he  again  found  it  needful  to  place  his  hands  be¬ 
hind  him  and  warm  them,  and  still  he  only  uttered  an 
occasional  growl ;  at  last  he  said,  So  I  suppose  that 
fine  lady’s  pet  is  without  a  home,  hey  ?  Serve  them 
right ;  what  do  girls  want  with  Italian  grey-hounds,  I 
wonder  !  well  ?  what’s  your  wife  going  to  try  how  she 
will  look  with  a  fine  lady’s  dog  at  her  heels,  hey?” 

Mr.  Dalton  knew  him  too  well  to  care  for  his  growl¬ 
ing,  so  he  only  said,  with  perhaps  a  little  spice  of 
displeasure,  “  My  wife  is  always  glad  to  do  a  kind 
action,  and  she  certainly  has  taken  charge  of  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair’s  little  favorite.” 

Oh,  ah,  very  well ;  all  right,  no  doubt ;  all  very 
right ;  but  I  say,  Italian  greyhounds  are  foolish  things, 
t)ery,  I  saw  it  there  to-day,  in  the  young  lady’s  room; 
well,  she  is  but  young ;  she’ll  know  better  some  day, 
I’ve  no'doubt.” 

Mr.  Dalton  only  said,  that  “  When  voung  ladies 
like  Miss  Sinclair  were  ready  and  desirous  to  do  their 


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duty,  as  she  had  done,  he  did  not  think  even  Mr  Cros¬ 
by,  with  all  his  discrimination,  would  find  much  cause 
for  complaint.” 

At  this  the  old  gentleman  coughed  away  half  a 
smile,  and  said,  “  Oh,  all  very  fine,  but  I  hate  young 
ladies  and  Italian  greyhounds,  and  all  their  fooleries.” 
And  having  made  this  churlish  observation,  he  walked 
out  of  the  shop. 

Honor  soon  rejoined  her  young  mistress,  who  lis¬ 
tened  with  much  interest  to  the  account  she  brought  of 
Fido’s  reception,  and  felt  very  glad  that  she  had  made 
this  little  sacrifice  of  her  wishes,  and  that  her  favor¬ 
ite  Fido  had  found  so  comfortable  a  home. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  next  moming  Kate  rose  early,  everything  was 
^uite  prepared  for  her  departure,  and  she  now  only  wait¬ 
ed  for  Charles ;  it  was  about  nine  o’clock  that  Mr.  Pley- 
dell  called  to  take  leave  of  her,  and  Honor  was  told  she 
must  be  most  attentive  to  his  directions  all  day, 
and  that  as  soon  as  the  sale  was  ended,  which  would 
be  at  about  four  o’clock,  she  should  leave  all  the  keys 
in  Mr.  Pleydell’s  care,  and  join  her  young  mistress  at 
Mr.  Eveleigh’s  house;-  but  at  present  Ml*.  Pleydell 
was  not  to  be  told  the  place  of  her  father’s  retreat.  In 
half  an  hour  more  Charles  arrived,  and  joyously  did 
Kate  spring  into  his  arms :  for  a  few  moments  both 
were  quite  overcome,  and  neither  could  venture  to 
speak ;  but  Charles,  whose  high  spirit  could  never  long 
sustain  depression,  soon  rallied,  and  he  began  to 
make  most  active  preparations  for  Kate’s  departure. 
A  cab  was  called,  Kate’s  boxes  were  hastily  put  in ; 
anS  then  Charles,  placing  her  in  the  carriage  and  seat¬ 
ing  himself  by  her  side,  drew  down  all  the  blinds, 
assumed  a  manly  tone,  and  told  the  driver  to  start  and 

make  the  best  of  his  way  to - Street ;  whence  they 

intended  to  proceed  on  foot  to  Mr.  Evcleigh’s  house. 

The  drive  occupied  but  a  short  time,  and  Kate  had 
scarcely  regained  her  composure,  when  the  sudden 


56 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


stopping  of  the  carriage  roused  her.  Charles  jumped 
out,  and  directing  her  to  wait  one  moment,  he  darted 
into  a  baker’s  shop,  the  door  of  which  stood  open,  and 
asked  permission  to  leave  his  sister  and  the  boxes  there, 
while  he  looked  for  some  one  to  convey  the  latter  to 
their  place  of  destination.  The  civil  shopkeeper  readily 
assented,  and  Charles  then  dismissed  the  carriage 
which  had  brought  them,  as  he  did  not  wish  the  driver 
to  have  a  clue  to  their  present  place  of  abode.  After 
sitting  a  short  time  in  the  baker’s  shop,  a  porter’s  bar- 
row  was  procured,  and,  with  their  boxes  safely  packed 
upon  it,  they  set  off  to  walk  by  its  side  to  the  street  in 
which  Mr.  Eveleigh’s  house  was  situated.  On  their 
way,  Charles  told  Kate  many  particulars  respecting 
their  new  habitation,  and  she  shrunk  from  the  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  comparative  wretchedness  of  its  arrange¬ 
ments  ;  but  they  both  agreed  that  energy  and  exertion 
might  soon  render  any  place  comfortable  and  even 
happy ;  and  that,  henceforth  they  would  live  only  for 
the  benefit  of  the  dear  party  who  were  now  so  depend¬ 
ent  on  them  for  all  that  could  soothe  them  in  their  sad 
state  of  distress.  And  now  they  turn  a  corner,  and 
Charles  whispers  Kate  to  “  keep  up,”  and  show  a 
“  cheerful  face,”  for  they  shall  be  there  in  a  moment :  the 
porter  is  directed  to  stop,  and  Kate  recognizes  the  old 
red  brick  house,  with  its  three  steps  up  to  the  door,  and 
its  old-fashioned  iron  palisading  on  each  side  of  them ; 
long  casement  windows,  extending  nearly  all  along  the 
front  of  the  house,  showing,  by  the  small  size  of  the 
panes  of  glass,  that  they  have  for  many  long  years  af¬ 
forded  light  to  the  rooms  within ;  the  door  too  is  some¬ 
what  heavy,  and  the  knocker  ponderous. 


HOME  IS  HOME 


57 


Charles  pushed  it  c  pen  without  announcing  their  ar¬ 
rival  bj  rap  or  ring,  thinking  he  should  like  to  give 
Kate  a  moment  to  recover  herself  before  they  mounted 
the  stairs.  There  was  a  square  sort  of  entrance  hall, 
and  this  and  the  staircase  were  all  wainscoted  with 
dark  oak ;  in  this  way,  indeed,  nearly  every  part  of  the 
house  was  finished,  giving  an  air  of  respectability  to 
the  appearance  of  the  place.  The  boxes  were  now 
brought  in  and  placed  in  this  entrance,  and  the  porter 
who  had  brought  them  was  paid  and  dismissed ;  yet, 
strange  to  say,  Kate  still  lingered,  longing  as  she  did 
to  see  all  the  dear  party,  and  though  she  had  hitherto 
felt  no  doubt  of  her  own  firmness,  she  was  now  scarcely 
equal  to  the  scene  which  awaited  her.  In  another  mo¬ 
ment  Charles,  passing  his  arm  round  her  waist,  led  her 
up  the  first  fiight  of  stairs ;  but  at  the  first  sound  of 
their  footsteps,  two  little  cheerful  voices  were  heard 
exclaiming,  “  Oh,  they’re  come,  they’re  come,  dear 
darling  Kate’s  come,  now  we  shall  be  so  happy  !” — and, 
with  bounding  steps,  Emily  and  Rose  rushed  into  their 
sister’s  arms  saying  -everything  at  once,  in  the  manner 
of  all  excited  young  children :  Oh,  Kate,  we’ve  been 
sitting  on  the  stairs  all  the  morning,  and  we  are  not  at 
all  cold,  and  dear  mamma  is  certainly  better,  and  papa’s 
longing  to  see  you ;  and  oh,  Kate,  Charles  has  made — ” 
but  here  Charles  interposed,  and  putting  his  hands, 
good-humoredly,  before  the  two  little  rosy  mouths,  he 
said,  “  Gently,  gently,  my  dear  little  pets  ;  you  must 
not  tell  Kate  all  our  secrets,  and  tire  her  spirits  before 
8  e  has  seen  mamma;  come,  come,  run  away,  little 
kii  -ens,  or  we  shall  never  reach  the  top  of  this  weary 
old  house.” 


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However,  they  reached  the  last  landing ;  nod  then, 
and  not  till  then,  Kate  was  folded  in  the  arms  of  her 
father ;  hut  both  were  too  oppressed  to  speak,  and  it 
was  with  a  trembling  frame  that  Mr.  Sinclair  embraced 
his  daughter:  conquering  their  emotions  as  soon  as 
possible,  Kate  entered  the  room  in  which  her  dear  mo¬ 
ther  awaited  her  arrival,  and  where  she  had  been  induced 
to  remain,  that  she  might  receive  her  child  without  the 
presence  of  the  younger  children ;  and  as  Kate  knelt 
by  her  side,  and  placed  her  hand  on  her  shoulder,  she 
audibly  distinguished  the  loud  pulsation  of  that  dear 
mother’s  palpitating  heart ;  yet  all  was,  as  far  as  possi¬ 
ble,  calm,  and  composed  :  a  glance  sufficed  to  show 
Kate  the  privations  which  had  been  already  endured, 
and  which  must  have  caused  much  suffering  to  their 
sensitive  hearts,  and  scarcely  could  she  restrain  her 
agitated  feelings  ;  a  short  time,  however,  restored  them 
in  son^e  degree  to  composure,  and  then  Charles  and  the 
little  ones  joined  them,  and  Kate  was  constrained  to 
listen  to  all  the  details  of  their  proceedings  since  they 
left  her  ;  they  insisted  too  on  showing  her  all  the  little 
contrivances  by  which  they  had  managed  to  find  the 
necessary  accommodation  for  such  a  party  in  these 
bachelor’s  rooms,”  of  which  Kate  was  taking  a  quiet 
but  accurate  survey,  and  which  consisted  of  a  tolerably 
large  room,  with  dark  wainscot^  paneling,  lighted  from 
the  top  by  a  skylight,  at  one  end,  and  having  also  a 
long  range  of  casements  on  one  side :  at  the  farthest 
part  of  the  room  stood  a  bed  with  old  fashioned  hang¬ 
ings  of  dark  green  moreen,  which  Jooked  a  little  moth- 
eaten  and  dingy,  still  it  was  evidxXitly  perfectly  neat 
and  clean,  A  long  sort  of  stand,  covered  with  green 


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59 


baize,  was  placed  along  the  centre  of  tl  e  room,  which 
had  been  used  by  Mr.  Eveleigh  as  the  pedestal,  on 
which  to  place  the  subjects  for  his  artistic  pencil;  and 
round  the  room,  at  different  intervals,  were  placed  other 
stands,  on  some  of  which  there  still  might  be  seen  some 
clever  and  even  valuable  busts  and  torsos  ;  a  painter’s 
easel  rested  against  the  wall  in  one  corner,  and  several 
other  minor  objects,  marked  this  as  the  painter’s  ^‘studio.” 
A  large  fire-place,  with  a  small  grate  in  it,  but  imper¬ 
fectly  supplied  the  warmth  which  so  large  a  room  re¬ 
quired,  and  a  few  rather  hard-seated  mahogany  chairs, 
with  stiff  upright  backs,  completed  the  furniture  of  this 
singular  apartment,  with  the  exception  of  a  large  ma¬ 
hogany  table,  which,  covered  with  coarse  green  baize, 
stood  in  the  front  of  the  fire  ;  within  this  room,  which 
served  as  the  bed-room  and  only  sitting-room  for  her 
parents,  there  was  another  small  room,  with  a  bed  in 
it  and  a  couple  of  chairs ;  and  here,  Emily  told  Kate, 
“  she  and  Rosy  had  slept  ever  since  they  came  and 
she  also  told  her  that  “  poor  Charley  had  been  obliged 
to  sleep  in  the  place  where  all  Mr.  Eveleigh’s  cups  and 
saucers  were  kept,”  a  sort  of  closet-pantry,  just  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs ;  and  the  chattering  child  continued, 

don’t  know  what  you  and  Honor  can  do,  Kate,  for 
there  are  no  more  beds  in  this  funny  old  place,  and 
papa  will  be  more  vexed  than  ever  now.  What  will  you 
do,  dear  Katie  ;  do  you  think  we  could  ail  sleep  in  this 
one  little  bed 

What  a  change  for  Kate !  yet  she  cared  not  for  her¬ 
self,  and  kissing  the  dear  little  ones,  she  said,  Did  you 
ever  read  the  Life  and  Adventures  c  f  Robinson  Crusoe, 
dear  Emily  ?”  “  Oh  yes,  Kate,  an  I  I  know  what  you 


60 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


meaiij  and  we’ll  all  be  make-believe  Eobinsons,  and  that 
will  be  charming,  for  I  always  wished  1  could  be  Eobin^ 
son  Crusoe.”  Kate  smiled,  and  patting  her  on  the 
head,  said,  W ell,  then,  now  let  us  begin  to  imitate 
him  in  all  his  clever  contrivances,  to  banish  inconven¬ 
ience  and  repining.” 

Charles  was  now  called  into  the  room,  and  after 
much  cogitation,  he  suggested  that  they  had  better 
leave  all  these  troubles  to  him,  and  that  before  the 
hour  of  rest  approached,  all  should  be  comfortably  ar¬ 
ranged  ;  but  how  this  was  to  be  done,  they  could  not 
imagine.  All  now  began  to  exert  themselves  to  make 
everything  as  neat  and  comfortable  as  circumstances 
would  admit,  and  although  they  had  to  contend  with 
many  difficulties,  the  young  ones  thought  it  would  bfe 
rather  amusing  to  have  so  much  to  do,  and  to  be  of  so 
much  importance ;  on  this  day,  too,  they  scarcely  re¬ 
alized  all  the  perplexities  of  their  situation,  as  Kate 
had  brought  cold  provision,  and  many  things,  which 
added  to  their  comfort. 

Mr.  Sinclair,  who  could  not  be  induced  to  look  about 
him,  and  take  a  part  in  these  preparations,  sat  with  his 
hands  folded  on  his  knees,  and  scarcely  spoke  or  movel 
for  hours  at  a  time,  then  suddenly  starting  up,  he  paced 
the  room  in  silent  distress  and  sorrow  ;  he  looked  fear¬ 
fully  ill,  too,  and  poor  Kate  felt  shocked  at  the  change 
which  a  few  days  had  effected  :  his  usually  fastidiously 
neat  dress  was  now  quite  neglected,  his  unbrushed 
clothes  seemed  as  if  he  had  no  thought  either  for  his 
comfort  or  appearance,  and  it  was  evident  that  his 
health  was  rapidly  sinking,  from  the  distressed  state  of 
his  mind.  His  wife  and  daughter  watched  him  with 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


61 


anxious  eyes,  but  avoided  saying  one  word  that  might 
betray  their  deep  grief,  and  everything  was  done  to 
conceal  the  difficulties  by  which  they  were  now  sur¬ 
rounded.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  he  suddenly  asked 
what  was  to  become  of  Kate,  and  demanded,  with  as¬ 
sumed  calmness,  “  What  arrangement  they  proposed 
for  finding  sleeping  accommodations  for  large  a 
party  To  which  Charles  replied,  Oh,  I  shall 
manage,  I  shall  contrive  it  all  presently and  he  be¬ 
gan  carefully  to  examine  every  article  in  the  room.  On 
turning  over  the  long-shaped  pedestal,  which  was  cov¬ 
ered  with  baize,  it  was  discovered  to  be  hollow ;  and  as 
it  was  sufficiently  long,  and  large  enough  to  contain 
one  of  the  little  girls,  it  was  determined  to  fit  it  up  as 
a  sort  of  crib  bed,  and  to.leave  the  other  bed  for  Kate 
and  little  Rosa :  thus  the  first  real  difficulty  which  had 
arisen  was  cleverly  obviated  ;  and  now  Kate  placed  some 
wood  on  the  fire,  and  wheeled  two  chairs  close  to  the 
cheerful  blaze,  for  her  parents  ;  then  she  and  Charles 
were  very  busy  indeed  bringing  a  cloth  to  spread  over 
the  table  ;  then  tea-things  were  to  be  fetched,  and  Rosa 
and  Emily  would  make  the  tea-kettle  sing  a  merrj 
song,  to  “  enliven  dear  papa and  then  Kate  bro ughl 
two  little  cakes  she  had  bought  for  the  little  ones,  and 
when  the  fire  sent  up  a  glowing  light,  which  even 
cheered  tli  e  darkness  of  that  dark  room,  and  the  chil¬ 
dren  were  seated  round  the  table,  laughing  and  talking, 
and  devising  a  thousand  ingenious  plans,  by  which  they 
might  even  cause  Robinson  Crusoe  himself  to  sleep  in 
the  shade ;  and  when  Kate  offered  the  two  nice  buna 
to  the  little  would-be  inmates  of  a  deserted  island,  and 
they  pushed  the  said  cakes  into  the  hands  of  dear 


62 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


papa”  and  darling  mamma,”  even  poor  Mr.  Sinclair 
could  not  help  admitting  the  hope  that,  with  these 
affectionate  beings  about  him,  the  sun  of  happiness 
would  surely  shine  upon  him  still. 

And  now,  just  as  the  room  was  filled  with  the  grate 
ful  scent  of  the  warm,  nice  tea  and  toast,  a  step  on  the 
stairs  announced  "‘he  arrival  of  an  addition  to  their 
party,  an  exclamation  of  “  Oh,  that’s  Honor;  I’m  sure 
it  is !”  escaped  from  the  children,  and  Charles  rushed 
to  the  door,  to  admit  the  poor,  wearied,  sad  girl.  Honor, 
shivering  from  the  effects  of  the  cold  and  fog  without, 
stood  for  a  moment,  quite  surprised  and  delighted,  at 
the  change  which  had  been  made  in  the  appearance  of  the 
before  cheerless  apartment,  and  afforded  a  strong  contrast 
to  the  now  warmed  and  comfortable  party,  who  were 
seated  round  the  tea-table,  in  front  of  the  blazing  fire. 
She  looked  pale  and  wearied,  and  the  sudden  transition 
from  the  cold,  foggy  air  of  the  street,  to  the  bright  and 
cheerful  apartment,  bewildered  her. 

A  loud,  and  friendly  greeting,  from  the  little  ones, 
and  the  kind  request  from  her  master,  that  she  would 
come  in  ”  induced  her,  after  laying  aside  her  wet 
cloak  and  bonnet  on  the  landing,  to  advance  towards 
the  party :  but  it  was  evident  that  the  poor  girl  felt 
c|uite  abashed  and  confused,  at  finding  herself,  for  the 
first  time,  obliged  to  assume  a  position  so  new  to  her ; 
to  have  no  kitchen  to  wait  in  till  Miss  Kate  ”  or  the 
mistress  ”  wanted  her  ;  no  fire  to  approach  but  the  one 
round  which  those  she  so  respected  were  seated,  at  their 
evening  meal ;  no  means  of  showing  how  bitterly  she 
dreaded  being  an  intruder  upon  the  privacy  of  her 
honored  master  and  mistress.  All  combined  to  distress 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


63 


and  silenco  the  good,  faithful  creature  :  and  she  stood 
looking  at  Kate  with  a  mute  appeal,  which  seemed  to 
ask  for  advice  and  direction.  Mrs.  Sinclair  kindly  of 
fered  her  a  cup  of  tea,  which  she  gratefully  accepted,  and 
then  retired  to  the  farthest'  corner  of  the  room,  where 
she  contrived  to  make  a  hiding-place  for  herself  behind 
the  bed-curtains.  But  nothing  could  induce  her  to  ap¬ 
proach  the  party  again  until  the  meal  was  ended,  and 
then  with  all  the  air  of  a  new  servant  anxious  to  secure 
a  good  place,  she  asked  Charles  in  a  low  tone :  “  Would 
he  be  so  good  as  to  show  her  the  way  to  the  pantry.”  ' 

Kate  deferred  all  inquiry  and  conversation  with 
Honor  till  she  could  be  with  her  alone,  as  she  dreaded 
mentioning  the  subject  of  the  sale  before  her  father ; 
and  as  soon  as  Honor  had  disappeared  with  the  tea- 
things,  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  the  girls  took  out  some  needle¬ 
work,  while  Charles  busied  himself  in  trying  to  arrange 
some  more  plans  for  the  morrow,  and  Mr.  Sinclair 
again  became  immersed  in  saddened  thoughts. 

An  hour  had  elapsed  in  almost  silence,  broken  by 
vain  efforts  at  cheerful  conversation,  when  a  low  and 
timid  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  to  the  great  sur¬ 
prise  of  the  assembled  group,  a  little  girl  of  about 
tweive  made  her  appearance  in  the  gloom  of  the  door¬ 
way.  The  room  at  that  end  was  scarcely  lighted,  and 
they  were  all  quite  at  a  loss  to  make  out  who  the  in¬ 
truder  could  be.  She  wore  a  very  broad-frilled  cap^ 
and  a  sort  of  tartan  plaid  petticoat,  rather  short,  exhi¬ 
biting  a  pair  of  well-turned  feet  and  ancles,  but  without 
the  encumbrance  of  shoes  or  stockings ;  and  in  a  broad 
Scotch  dialect,  she  said,  “  My  leddy’s  sent  her  kind  re¬ 
spects  tull  ye  all,  and  she  will  be  happy  to  give  ye  a 


64 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


bed,  if  ye  bav’nt  enough  for  all  the  family,  and  she’ll 
be  happy  to  pay  her  compliments  to  ye,  the  morn.” 

The  children  were  half  inclined  to  titter  at  the 
strange  little  servant’s  dress  and  manner,  but  their  im¬ 
patience  to  know  who  she  could  be  checked  them,  and 
they  listened  attentively  to  the  girl’s  answers  to  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  who  now  asked  her,  Who  sent  her,  and 
whose  servant  she  was  ?” 

“  Deed,  then,  I’m  serving-lassie  to  Miss  Moffat,  and 
she  bids  me  tell  ye  ye’ll  be  kindly  welcome  to  the  use 
of  a  room  on  her  floor ;  and  the  maid  can  come  down 
a  bit  when  ye’re  tired  of  her  company  up  stairs  !” 

How  very  kind,  how  very  considerate  !”  burst  from 
the  lips  of  all  the  young  ones.  And  though  for  a  mo¬ 
ment  Mr.  Sinclair  was  heard  to  mutter  Impossible,” 
“  Strangers,”  &c.,  &c.,  the  little  girl  was  requested  to 
come  in  while  Kate  prepared  a  hasty  note  of  thanks, 
for  the  offered  civility,  and  accepted  the  room  which 
was  at  this  time  so  especially  required.  The  little 
stranger  approached  the  table,  and  her  sweet  coun¬ 
tenance  and  pretty  smiling  face  quite  charmed  the 
children ;  and  Rosa  was  detected  holding  her  wax  doll 
in  such  a  position,  as  to  induce  the  admiring  gaze  of 
her  blue  eyes  to  be  most  fully  devoted  to  its  beauties. 

What  is  your  name?”  Emily  asked,  and  the  child 
in  a  whisper  said,  “  I’m  Maggy,  t  le  piper’s  child,  and  I 
live  wi’  Miss  Moffat.” 

The  note  was  now  ready,  and  the  child  dismissed — 
Charles  kindly  lighting  her  down  the  dark  staircase. 
It  was  then  settled  that  the  room  thus  offered  should 
be  devoted  to  Charles’  use,  and  that  Honor  should  for 
the  present  sleep  in  her  pantry-closet,  where  she  assured 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


65 


them  she  could  make  quite  a  comfortable  shake  down’* 
for  herself. 

All  their  worst  difficulties  now  seemed  remoT;ed,  at 
least  so  Kate  and  the  young  ones  imagined ;  but  to  the 
parents  still  came  the  thought,  “  Whence  shall  we  find 
bread  that  these  may  eat  and  not  die 

Maggie  descended  the  last  flight  of  the  stairs,  and 
was  groping  her  way  along  the  dark  passage  below, 
when  a  door  suddenly  opened,  and  a  stream  of  light, 
proceeding  from  the  room  within,  assisted  her  very 
considerably  in  her  progress.  She  hastily  ran  forward^ 
and  without  recovering  the  little  alarm  which  a  few 
steps  in  the  dark  had  occasioned  her,  she  stood  with 
blushing  cheeks  in  the  presence  of  her  mistress,  who 
was  awaiting  her  return  with  great  impatience. 

Weel,  Maggie,  an’  have  ye  speered  at  the  leddy 
hersel’  ?  an’  what  did  she  say  .tull  ye  ?  but,  0  lassie,  I 
see  ye’ve  got  a  screed  of  a  note  for  me  !  come,  just  hand 
it  here,  bairn,  an’  we’ll  see.” 

Miss  Moffat  seized  Kate’s  note,  and  held  her  head 
very  erect,  as  she  read  the  “  Varry  leddy-like  epistle 
fra  Miss  Sinclair  who,  as  usual,  wrote  in  so  kind  and 
courteous  a  manner,  as  to  give  great  pleasure  to  the 
person  whom  she  addressed.  On  this  occasion  her  note 
was  productive  of  a  very  considerable  share  of  satisfac¬ 
tion  ;  and  for  some  time  Miss  Moffat  moved  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  the  air  of  a  queen  on  a  country 
stage. 

Miss  Moffat  was  an  elderly  spinster,  whom  a  cold 
world  had  not  treated  with  much  warmth,  and  on  whom 
the  icy  shoulders  of  neglect  had  too  often  been  turned, 
for  the  sin  of  poverty  had  set  its  blasting  finger  upon 


66 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


her,  and  for  many  years  she  had  been  accustomed  only 
to  its  consequent  sorrows  and  sacrifices.  She  still,  how¬ 
ever,  felt  a  peculiar  pleasure,  when  by  any  circumstance 
she  found  herself  included,  even  for  a  moment,  within 
the  pale  of  that  barrier  which  too  often  excludes  all  on 
whom  the  ban  of  poverty  has  fallen.  She  was  by  birth 
a  lady  of  good  Scotch  family,  and  in  her  youth  had  en¬ 
joyed  the  hospitable  comforts  of  a  Highland  home ;  but 
time  had  deprived  her  of  “  friends,  fortune,  all,”  and  at 
this  period  of  approaching  age,  she  had  gladly  accepted 
the  kind  proposal  made  to  her  by  her  far  off  cousin,” 

Mr.  Eveleigh,  that  she  should  occupy  part  of  his  old 

house  in - street.  The  house,  as  we  have  seen,  was 

partially  furnished,  and  afforded  to  poor  Miss  Moffat  a 
more  comfortable  and  respectable  home  than  for  some 
time  previously  she  had  enjoyed.  She  immediately,  by 
her  cousin’s  permission,  found  lodgers  for  some  of  the 
rooms  which  she  did  not  require  ;  and  thus  derived  a 
small  addition  to  her  very  scanty  means  of  subsistence, 
which  otherwise  would  scarcely  have  provided  her  with 
daily  food.  The  trials  and  privations  to  which  she  had 
been  subjected,  had  by  no  means  hardened  Miss  Mof¬ 
fat’s  heart ;  and  she  ever  felt  particularly  excited  by 
those  sorrows  which  had  for  their  origin  either  poverty 
or  neglect :  and  now  that  she  had  it  in  her  power  to 
bestow  a  kindness  on  real  “  born  leddies,”  she  felt  a 
glow  of  true  Scottish  hospitality  which  brought  back  a 
tide  of  early  recollections ;  and  it  was  with  some  pride 
that  she  told  Maggie  to  “  mak  haste  to  get  ready  the 
spare  room  and  the  braw  linen  which  was  once  her  ^  ain 
dear  mither’s,’  ”  and  which  consequently  was  reserved 
for  special  occasions.  “  And  get  a’  weel  airrit  and  see  ^ 


\ 


HOMEISHOME.  67 

that  a’  was  reddy,”  for  she  expected  a  guest  to  sleep 
that  night. 

Maggie,  who  had  been  a  very  short  time  in  her  pre¬ 
sent  capacity  of  chief  servant  to  Miss  Moffat,  was  so 
bewildered  by  these  unusual  directions  that  she  only 
stared  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  “  What’s  yer  wool, 
Ma’am  ?” 

“  Gude  guide  us,  lassie  !  dinna  ye  ken  that  I  sent 
ye  to  offer  them  a  bed  ?  and  dinna  ye  ken  it  must  aye 
be  airrit?” 

Now  then  Maggie  quite  understood  the  intentions 
of  her  kind  mistress,  and  she  promised  to  do  it  all  as 
weel  as  she  could :  but  Miss  Moffat  awoke  from  her 
dream,  and,  lo  !  it  was  but  a  wee  bairn  by  her  side  ; 
so  she  decided  that  “  gin  she  wanted  a’  done  wi  pro¬ 
priety,  she  had  better  just  do  it  herself,”  and  she  in¬ 
stantly  with  great  alacrity  busied  herself  in  preparing 
as  far  as  was  possible  for  the  comforts  of  her  visitor, 
and  when  Maggie  had  lighted  a  little  fire,  and  the  bed 
was  furnished  with  really  fine  Scotch  linen,  the  room 
looked,  as  Miss*  Moffat  said,  “  an  unco  comfortable 
rasting  place.”  And  she  hoped  her  “guest  would  sleep 
in  pace,  for  she  was  sure  she  had  spared  nae  trouble 
an  noo  lassie  get  the  bit  of  supper,  and  then  ye  sail  go 
to  yer  sleep,  for  ye  look  varra  sleepit  and  tired,  I’m 
thinking.” 

“  An  what  sail  I  get  for  the  supper  ?”  asked  little 
Maggie.  ‘^Ye  ken  we  finished  the  seep’s  head,  and 
pickit  the  banes  quite  clane,  the  dinner  time  this  day.” 

“  Ah  weel,  hinnie,  warm  the  bit  of  fried  potatoe  and 
bring  me,  and  ye  sail  have  half  of  it  yersel.” 

Maggie  departed,  and  soon  a  loud  hissing  of  frying 


68 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


was  heard  by  Miss  Moffat,  who,  on  hospitable  thoughts 
intent,  sat  looking  into  the  little  wood  fire  in  her  sit¬ 
ting-room,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the  small,  round  and 
highly-polished  table  by  her  side,  on  which  stood  a 
candle  in  a  very  old-fashioned  small  silver  candlestick 
of  upright  form,  and  having  a  small  shield,  with  the 
arms  of  her  family  engraved  upon  it.  This  candle¬ 
stick'  seldom  saw  daylight,  but  as  Miss  Moffat  did 
not  omit  any  opportunity  of  displaying  to  an  admir¬ 
ing  world  this  almost  solitary  vestige  of  the  brilliancy 
of  bygone  days,  she  had  now  placed  it  in  a  con¬ 
spicuous  place,  with  its  candle  ready  to  light  up  its 
glories,  the  moment  a  footstep  on  the  stairs  should 
announce  her  expected  visitor.  Meanwhile,  it  was 
not  needful  to  think  by  candlelight,  so  Miss  Moffat 
sat,  indulging  her  reveries  by  the  fireside.  Presently 
in  came  little  Maggie,  carrying  in  her  hands  a  dish 
with  a  cover  over  it;  this  with  trembling  eagerness 
she  placed  on  the  little  table,  upon  which  Miss  M6ffat 
had  hastily  placed  .a  snow-white  little  cloth,  but  be- 
f3re  the  cover  was  removed  from  the  dish,  a  long 
blessing  on  the  food  before  her  was  pronounced  in  a 
solemn  manner  by  Miss  Moffat.  Maggie  waited  with 
all  the  patience  she  could  muster,  but  it  was  evident 
the  child  was  much  delighted  when  at  length  the  sig¬ 
nal  was  given  to  her  and  she  raised  the  cover,  when 
forth  came  a  goodly  scent  of  fried  bacon  with  an  egg 
placed  most  invitingly  upon  its  tempting  surface. 

•  Hech,  sirs !  saw  ye  ever  the  like  o’  that  ?  Hey 
Maggie  dear,  but  whar  will  ye  have  gotten  sic  delicat 
provisions  for  us  ?  but  hold !  bring  your  het  plate, 
hinny,  and  tell,  whiles  I  gie  ye  some,  whar  did  ye  get 


HOME  is  HOME. 


69 


it,  I  fear  yeVe  been  sae  extravagant  as  to  buy  it  bmfc 
whar  wad  ye  get  the  money,  child  ?’*  The  good  lady 
paused,  and  awaited  the  reply  before  she  indulged  in 
the  dainties  before  her. 

Deed,  then,”  said  Maggie,  “  it’s  not  mtich  it  costs, 
for  whan  ye  sent  me  for  the  wood  there  was  a  farthing 
in  change,  and  the  man  askit  me  would  I  have  the 
farthing  or  an  egg  ?  and  so  I  took  the  egg,  and — and 
he  gave  me  the  bit  of  bacon.” 

Maggie’s  eye  and  blushing  cheek  betrayed  her ;  and 
Miss  Moffat  said,  “Oh  Lassie,  hinnie  !  1  fear,  oh,  I 
greatly  fear,  its  a  lee  ye  have  been  tellin  me;  for  I 
know  ye  could  nae  sae  provide  the  things  before  me: 
but  eh,  lassie,  dinna  be  afraid  to  speak  the  truth,  for 
ye  meent  it  kindly,  an  I’se  forgie  ye,  bairn,  if  ye’ve 
been  betrayed  into  a  faut.” 

Maggie  could  not  resist  the  tender,  gentle  tones  of 
her  kind  mistress,  and  she  sobbed  in  silence.  At 
length  she  confessed  that  she  had  not  bought  the  usual 
quantity  of  wood,  and  that  it  had  fallen  a  little  in  price, 
and  thus  she  had  a  few  pence  to  spare,  and  she  thought 
her  dear  “  leddy  would  just  be  wanting  something  ” 
for  her  supper,  and,  reckless  of  consequences,  she  had 
purchased  the  bit  of  ham  and  the  egg  of  which  the 
savory  dish  was  composed. 

“  An  ye  suit  ha  telt  me  sae  afore,  Maggie,  an  then 
we  might  hae  said  there  was  nae  grate  harm  dune ; 
but  noo,  lassie,  ye  have  broken  a  great  command  of 
Him  wha  is  truth  itsel ;  and  it’s  no  be  eating  or  drink¬ 
ing  we  will  this  night.  I’ll  share  a’  wi  ye,  lass  :  but 
if  ye  tell  me  a  lee^  deed  it’s  my  duty  to  show  ye  yer 
sin.  Sae  noo  tak  a’  awa,  for  I’se  no  heart  to  eat  alono  ’ 


70 


MoMfi  is  llwMil. 


sae  gang  awa  to  yer  bed. — I’se  talk  tull  ye  may  be 
the  morn.’^ 

In  Vain  the  child  wept  and  entreated)  Miss  Moffat 
was  in  inexorable,  and  Maggie  retired  in  sorrow  and 
shame,  and  soon  wept  herself  to  sleep  on  the  little  bed 
which  occupied  a  corner  of  her  kind  mistress’  room. 

In  a  few  moments  after  this  little  scene  had  takeh 
place,  Charles’  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Miss 
Moffat  opened  her  door,  having  first  lighted  the  long- 
prepared  candle.  Her  dress  and  appearance  were  so 
singular,  that  Charles  could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile. 
Standing  in  the  doorway,  with  the  silver  candlestick 
held  aloft  as  in  triumph.  Miss  Moffat  displayed  to  ad¬ 
vantage  the  remnants  of  finery  of  ancient  days  with 
which  she  had  adorned  herself  on  this  eventful  even* 
ing.  Her  cap,  which  was  of  old  but  fine  lace,  was 
trimmed  with  a  profusion  of  cherry-colored  ribbons, 
of  which  a  sort  of  wreath  of  bows  surrounded  her  face  ; 
from  beneath  this  tawdry  cap  hung  the  well-oiled  Curls 
of  a  flaxen  wig,  which  were  so  disposed  as  to  give  as  ju¬ 
venile  au:  air  as  possible  to  the  thin  and  almost  wrin¬ 
kled  face  and  throat  beneath.  Her  dress  was  of  plaid, 
which,  though  originally  of  bright  and  handsome  colors, 
was  mw,  both  in  fabric  and  form,  worn  and  old-fashion¬ 
ed.  Her  throat  was  a  good  deal  exposed  ;  and  as  she 
still  had  some  remains  of  the  pink  and  white  complex¬ 
ion  of  former  years,  she  looked  in  the  dim  light  like 
some  old,  faded  doll.  Still,  her  kindly  smile,  and 
bright  blue  eye,  gave  promise  of  an  amiable  nature, 
and  Charles  returned  her  salutation  with  much  polite¬ 
ness,  thanking  her  most  sincerely  when  she  ushered 


MOMEiSHOME. 

him  into  the  very  comfortable  room  which  she  had  pre¬ 
pared  for  his  reception. 

Having  wished  him  “  Gude  night,”  Miss  Moffat  re¬ 
tired  to  her  own  room,  where  she  bestowed  a  kind  and 
pitying  look  upon  the  now  sleeping  little  culprit,  say¬ 
ing,  “  Puir  bairn,  she  is  but  a  chield,  and  has  probably 
been  but  little  instructed  in  the  right  way ;  and  in  the 
morn  I’se  gie  her  some  gude  advice,  and  strive  to  win 
her  young  soul  to  God,  if  it  be  His  wilL^^  And  Miss 
Moffat’s  a  sweet  and  peaceful,  and  her  rest  un¬ 

disturbed 


CHAPTER  VII 


It  was  at  about  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next 
day,  that  Mr.  Crosby’s  respectable  housekeeper,  Mrs* 
Pairly,  was  seated  in  her  own  snug  little  sitting-room, 
surrounded  by  all  those  comforts  which  old  and  faith¬ 
ful  servants  generally  contrive  to  draw  around  them  in 
their  advancing  age  :  this  room  occupied  the  south-west 
corner  of  the  house,  and  looked  out  upon  the  well-kept 
grass  plat  and  flower  borders  in  front.  But  as  good 
housekeepers  think  it  right  to  keep  an  eye  upon  all  vi¬ 
sitors,  Mrs.  Fairly  had  induced  her  master  to  have  an¬ 
other  window  opened  at  the  western  angle,  thus  con¬ 
verting  her  room  into  a  sort  of  observatory  ;  and  here, 
when  seated  close  by  her  fireside,  Mrs.  Fairly  contrived 
to  see  every  one  who  approached  the  house.  As  the 
good  lady,  however,  was  particularly  sensitive  of  cold 
draught,  these  windows  were  well  defended  with  sand 
bags,  neatly  covered  with  green  baize ;  a  strong  carpet 
of  bright  green  and  scarlet  covered  the  room,  and  a 
warm  rug  was  placed  before  the  fire  ;  the  polished  brass 
fender  and  fire-irons  gave  evidence  of  Hannah’s  skill ; 
and  the  bright,  but  not  blazing  fire  was  most  methodi¬ 
cally  kept  at  a  certain  pyramidical  altitude,  and  as 
Mrs.  Fairly  filled  each  crack  as  it  appeared  with  a  coal 
or  cinder,  a  clear  fire  it  remained,  and  without  any 


HOME  tS  HOME. 


73 


^  waste  or  extravagance,”  as  she  told  her  little  servant. 
On  the  rug  was  placed  a  square  footstool,  on  the  top  of 
which  sat  an  erect  tabby  cat,  worked  in  wool,  but  look- 
ing  rither  old  and  faded  in  its  beauties,  which,  as  it  had 
evidently  occupied  that  peculiar  position  for  many  a 
long  year,  was  a  result  not  to  be  wondered  at  by  any 
one.  Many  were  the  curiosities  by  which  Mrs.  Fairly’s 
room  was  adorned,  and  of  which  she  was  particularly 
proud,  for  they  were  the  gifts  of  her  kind,  though 
strangely-mannered  master,  who  generally  compensated 
for  any  unusual  degree  of  churlishness  or  asperity  by 
bringing  some  fresh  ornament  for  the  decoration  of  her 
room  ;  and,  as  in  former  days  Mr.  Crosby  had  visited 
distant  climes,  he  possessed  many  things  which  were 
well  calculated  to  please  the  good  lady.  Amongst  these 
treasures  were  some  glass  cases  containing  beautiful 
little  birds  of  the  most  brilliant  plumage,  and  many- 
colored  flies  and  beetles,  one  of  which  occupied  a  most 
conspicuous  place  on  a  side  table,  and  was  shown  to 
every  friend  as  the  “  Dimont  Beetle  and  had  it  been 
formed  of  one  single  diamond,  Fairly  would  scarcely 
have  thought  it  more  valuable.  On  a  table  against 
one  wall  was  placed  a  handsome  tea-tray,  and  an  urn 
which  was  in  so  high  a  state  of  preservation  as  to  show 
that  its  duties  were  confined  to  the  ornamental  branch. 
On  the  mantel  shelf  stood  a  church,  with  Mrs.  Fairly^s 
warming-pan  watch  peeping  through  a  round  hole  in 
the  tower.  A  pretty  little  black  spaniel,  with  habit- 
shirt  and  socks  of  purest  white,  basked  before  the  fire; 
and  as  Mrs.  Fairly  had  been  assured,  as  she  always 
said,  “  that  he  was  a  lineal  descendant  from  King 
Charles,”  she  had  thought  it  only  a  proper  resprect”  ta 
4 


74 


HOME  HOME. 


call  him  Prince V  A  grey  parrot,  in  a  large  and 
handsome  cage,  completed  the  arrangements  of  this 
^‘housekeeper’s  room.” 

On  the  evening  we  have  mentioned,  it  was  evident 
that  Mrs.  Fairly  was  expecting  the  arrival  of  some 
guest ;  several  tinges  had  she  pushed  aside  her  working 
materials,  and  walked  impatiently  to  the  window  which 
overlooked  the  back  entrance  of  the  house ;  on  each  of 
these  occasions  Prince  had  jumped  from  his  mat  by  the 
fire,  and,  springing  after  her,  had  pushed  his  way  to  the 
front  place  at  the  window,  poking  his  Hack  ’".ose  against 
the  glass,  and  barking  with  great  vehemence ;  in  vain 
was  he  commanded  to  be  quiet,  as  every  look  from  his 
mistress  seemed  but  tn  excite  him  to  fresh  demonstra¬ 
tions  of  his  sympathy,  and  though  in  perfect  good 
humor,  he  barked  hi'S  loudest  every  time  she  ap¬ 
proached  the  window.  At  length  Mrs.  Fairly  began 
to  lose  her  patienee  ;  it  was  almost  dark,  and  she  could 
no  longer  have  distinguished  her  expected  visitor  from 
“  any  other  she,”  and  muttering  that  it  was  always  sen,” 
and  that  “  Mrs.  Flitters  always  did  come  so  dreadful 
late.”  Mrs.  Fairly  returned  to  her  high-backed  chair  by 
the  fire.  In  a  few  moments  a  step  announced  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  her  friend,  and  Mrs.  Fairly  tried  to  appear 
quite  surprised  when  Mrs.  Flitters  glided  into  the  room, 
and  declared  she  was  “  so  very  much  provoked  that  she 
could  not  get  away  sooner.”  She  then  shook  hands 
violently  with  Mrs^  Fairly,  and  patted  “  dear  little 
Prinny,”  then  poked  her  finger  into  Poll’s  ruffled  fea¬ 
thers,  rousing  her  from  her  dreams  of  distant  lands. 
“  Poor  Poll,”  though  very  sleepy,  made  a  waddling  at¬ 
tempt  at  recognition,  winked  ama^ngly,  and  said  in  a 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


75 


sleepy  tone,  “  How  dy  do.”  Upon  wtich  Mrs. 
Flitters  was  in  raptures,  and  declared  that  Polly  al¬ 
ways  remembered  her,  waking  or  sleeping,”  and  then 
scratched  poor  Poll  till  she  bent  her  head  to  the  floor 
of  her  cage  with  delight.  Mrs.  Flitters  now  laid  aside 
her  shawl,  but  cold  as  it  was,  bonnet  she  had  none  for 
fear  of  spoiling  her  smart  new  cap  :  then  shaking  hands 
once  more  with  Fairly,  and  calling  her  a  dear 
good  soul,”  she  told  her  she  looked  “  so  well ;”  and  then, 
quite  breathless  with  excitement  at  finding  herself  “  out 
on  a  visit,”  she  threw  herself  into  the  chair  just  opposite 
Fairly,  stretched  out  her  pretty  figure  so  as  to  display 
it  to  the  best  advantage,  and  dispossessing  Prinny  of  his 
accustomed  seat,  she  placed  her  little  feet  on  the  foot¬ 
stool  in  front  of  the  fire. 

Mrs.  Flitters  was  many  years  younger  than  Mrs» 
Fairly,  and  was  not  quite  the  sort  of  person  one  might 
have  expected  her  to  choose  as  her  friend  and  chief 
confidant ;  but  Flitters  was  lively  and  good4empered, 
and,  moreover,  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  worthy 
Mrs.  Fairly,  whom  she  flattered  by  consulting  upon  all 
occasions,  as  being  “  so  much  her  superior,  and  so  able 
to  instruct  and  advise  her.”  Thus  the  good  house¬ 
keeper  felt  a  sort  of  motherly  liking  for  her,  and 
certainly  greatly  enjoyed  her  lively  chat :  moreover, 
there  had  been  a  little  opposition  from  Mr.  Crosby,  who 
did  not  quite  approve  the  intimacy  between  the  two  wo¬ 
men,  and,  as  it  sometimes  happens,  a  little  difficulty  of 
this  kind  only  rendered  them  the  more  desirous  to 
have  their  own  way,  so  Flitters  certainly  was  a  frequent 
visitor  in  the  housekeeper’s  room. 

Si  e  was  rather  “  young  for  a  housekeeper,”  as  Mra 


HOM£  StiOM£. 


Fairly  told  her ;  but  as  she  had  been  appointed  to  that 
distinction,  of  course  she  was  admitted  to  its  privi¬ 
leges.”  But  though  she  aimed  at  all  its  dignities,  she 
could  not  prevail  on  herself  to  adopt  a  style  of  dress 
consistent  with  so  staid  an  office.  On  the  present  occa¬ 
sion  she  wore  a  very  jaunty  cap,  with  pink  ribbons, 
much  too  small  to  restrain  the  long  black  ringlets  which 
fell  very  gracefully  on  each  side  of  her  really  handsome 
face.  Her  dress  was  of  dark  silk,  and  did  not  by  any 
means  conceal  the  symmetry  of  her  trim  little  waist  * 
and  her  shoes  of  “  patent  seal”  set  off  to  advantage  the 
small  and  delicate  little  feet  which  she  now  placed  on 
the  footstool. 

It  was  quite  evident  that,  although  Mrs.  Fairly  in 
some  sort  deprecated  all  this  finery,  yet  that  she  felt  a 
kindly  pleasure  in  admiring  her  younger  friend  ;  and 
she  smiled  as  she  said,  “  Well,  Mrs.  Flitters,  you’re  on 
the  look  out,  I  see.  Oh,  I  shall  dance  at  your  wedding 
now  before  long,  I’m  sure.” 

Flitters  only  laughed,  and  turned  her  little,  vain 
head  to  try  to  catch  a  glimpsS  of  the  pink  ribbons  in 
the  glass,  and  then  said,  simperingly,  “  Oh  now,  really, 
you’re  too  bad,  I  declare  ;  but  how  do  you  like  my 
new  cap  ?”  Whereupon  Mrs.  Fairly  began  a  lecture 
on  “  smarS  caps,”  which  Mrs.  Flitters  cut  short  by 
throwing  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and  saying,  “  Come, 
come,  now  !  I  know  you  like  it,  and  when  you  come  to 
dance  at  my  wedding,  you  shall  have  the  pattern  of  it  i 
there  now  !  but  w/io  knows,  Mrs.  Fairly,  though  you  are 
go  sly,  perhaps  I  shall  get  the  bride-cake  first,  and  dance 
at  your  wedding — may  bo  before  these  nc  n  shoes 
worn  out  I” 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


/ 


77 


Fairly  pretended  to  look  very,  very  angry  at  this 
sally,  but  she  was  evidently  pleased,  and  a  little,flat- 
tered  that  Flitters  should  not  think  her  too  old”  for 
such  badinage :  and  she  smilingly  rose  and  rung  the 
bell,  and  told  Hannah  to  “  bring  the  tea,  and  some  hot 
cakes,  and  to  be  sure  and  let  her  know  when  master  did 
come  home.”  And  the  tea  was  black  and  strong,  and 
the  cakes  were  doubly  buttered,  and  the  two  friends  sat 
close  beside  each  other,  chatting  merrily ;  yet  it  was 
evident  Mrs.  Flitters  had  some  subject  on  her  mind 
which  she  dreaded  to  bring  forward,  lest  she  should 
offend  the  good  housekeeper.  For  a  few  moments  she 
became  abstracted  and  silent,  till  Fairly,  thinking  some¬ 
thing  was  wrong,  said,  “  I  hope  the  tea  is  to  your  liking, 
Mrs.  Flitters when  that  lady  replied,  with  vehement 
protestations,  that  it  was  “  the  essence  of  perfection- 
nectarine,  fit  for  the  gods  !” 

“  Oh,  ma’am,  I  hope  not :  I  should  be  sorry  it 
should  be  so  perfane.”  At  which  Flitters  smiled  in 
conscious  superiority,  but  still  she  had  not  courage  to 
approach  the  subject  of  her  errand.  At  last  she  said, 
“  I  did  not  know,  ma’am,  that  Mr.  Crosby  was  a  lover 
of  sweet  sounds.”  Fairly,  who  was  slightly  deaf,  saidj 
“Cods’  sounds,  did  you  mean,  Mrs.  Flitters?  0  yes; 
I  believe  he  likes  them  very  well  when  in  season,  you 
know,  and  nicely  cooked :  but  it’s  difficult  to  have  them 
in  perfection.” 

“  Oh,  Mrs.  Fairly,  you  quite  mistook  my  meaning. 
I  meant  to  say  that  I  did  not  know  your  master  had 
music  in  his  soul.” 

“  Sole !  oh  yes,  yes.  be  likes  a  sole  particularly,  I 
know.  Yes,  yes  he  is  very  fond  of  a  sole.” 


78 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


Again  Flitters  bad  to  try  back .  but  this  time  she 
determined  not  to  be  misunderstood  ;  so  making  a  des¬ 
perate  effort,  she  said,  “  I  did  not  know,  that  he  was 
likely  to  want  a  piano^  ma’am,  I  mean ;  but  I  saw  one 
carried  into  this  house  to-day,  I  feel  convinced.” 

“•Oh!  ay,  that  you  did^  Mrs.  Flitters,  sure  enough  ; 
and  now  you’ve  mentioned  the  circumstance,  you  can’t 
say  that  I  told  you,  and  I  really  do  feel  quite  glad  to 
have  some  one  to  whom  I  can  open  my  heart  upon  this 
subject.  A  piano^  indeed !  yes,  and  many  a  lady’s 
gimcrack  arrived  here  this  blessed  day,  and  no  notice 
given  to  me^  Mrs.  Flitters :  but  when  the  hall  was  full  of 
the  trumpery  things,  master  called  me,  and  ordered  me 
to  put  them  in  the  blue  room — yes,  Mrs.  Flitters,  the 
bltte  room,  which  I  have  never  been  allowed  to  use  for 
any  ’versal  purpose  since  here  I’ve  been — and  that’s 
twenty  years :  and  they  do  say  that  it  has  not  been 
used  since  my  master  lost  his  young  wife,  who  they  tell 
me  was  a  sweet  creature,  though  something  of  a  furriner 
like.” 

‘‘Lor,  Mrs.  Fairly !  a  wife, well  I  didn’t  know 
as  he  had  ever  been  a  Benedict,  as  my  young  ladies 
say :  but  do  tell  me  more  about  it.  What !  he  was 
married  once,  was  he  then  ?  and  was  there  any  family, 
Mrs.  Fairly?” 

“Well,  I  don’t  know  anything  about  that,  its  nei¬ 
ther  here  nor  there  ;  what  I  want  tt)  know  is,  wliat  does 
all  these  things,  brought  here  to-day,  intend  ?  wliat  do 
yo%  think  ?  do  you  expect  that  he’s  going  to  be  so  fool 
ish  as  to  bring  home  another  wife  at  this  time  of  day?” 
But  Mrs  Flitters  was  taken  with  a  provoking  fit,  and 
told  her  friend  that  “  really  she  could  not  say,  such 


ROME  IS  HOME. 


79 


things  did  Qceur  in  the  best  of  families ;  and  that  it 
would  be  a  very  hard  thing  upon  3Irs.  Fairly  if  ho 
should  do  such  a  silly  thing but  still  it  did  “  seem 
too  probable  ;  for  else  what  could  he  want  of  such  things 
as  had  been  described.” 

At  this  poor  Fairly  could  not  at  all  conceal  her 
alarm,  and  said,  “  Well,  Mrs.  Flitters,  if  such  is  the 
case,  and  I  am  turned  adrift  in  my  old  age,  I  shall  say 
there’s  ho  gratitude  left  in  this  wickedest  of  worlds . 
and,  in  course,  no  fashionable  young  lady  would  like 
such  an  antiquated  housekeeper  as  me,  for  I  never 
had  any  practice  in  grand  dinners,  and  such  like,” 

Mrs.  Flitters  showed  great  sympathy  with  the  unfor¬ 
tunate  victim  of  this  suppositious  injustice  and  cruel 
treatment,  and  held  her  hand  affectionately,  while  she 
assured  her  that  she  could  never  be  so  ungrateful  as 
to  forget  her  past  kindness ;  and  then  dexterously 
turning  the  conversation,  she  resumed  the  subject  of 
her  curiosity.  “  I  think  you  was  saying  just  now  that 
the  forring  lady  had  a  child :  did  you  say  so,  Mrs. 
F.,  or  did  I  mistake  your  meaning  ?” 

“  Well,  I  don’t  know  much  about  it,” — and  here 
Fairly  lowered  her  tone  to  a  whisper — but  I  did  once 
see  in  a  drawer  in  my  master’s  study  a  little  vest  of 
purple  velvet,  and  some  small  fine  shirts  with  lace  and 
worked  collars ;  but  whose  they  were,  or  where  they 
came  from,  I  never  could  think.  I  have  often  looked 
since,  but  the  drawers  are  all  kept  locked :  and  as 
to  ever  naming  such  a  thing  it  would  cost  me  my  place, 
I  know.  So  now,  my  dear  Flitters,  I  do  hope  you’ll 
never,  tw,  never  mention  that  ever  I  told  you  such  a 
thing  and,  lor  bless  me,  after  all  you  know  they 


80 


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might  have  belonged  to  his  sister’s  child  !”  But  here 
a  loud  ringing  of  Mr.  Crosby’s  bell  roused  the  gos¬ 
sipping  Fairly,  and,  anathematizing  Hannah  for  not 
having  told  her  that  “  master  ”  was  come  home,  she 
hastily  pursued  her  way  to  the  librarj.  On  opening 
the  door,  she  was  greeted  with  a  “  Well,  what’s  the 
matter  ?  hey  ?  What’s  all  this  ?  Why,  Fairly,  I  have 
positively  rung  twice  !  bring  my  muffin  and  candles, 
and  don’t  lose  any  more  time,  I  beg.”  Fairly  curtsied 
and  withdrew ;  but  she  heard  him  murmur  Ay,  ay, 
women  are  always  gossipping.  I  dare  say  that  hand¬ 
some  fool  Flitters  is  chattering  in  the  housekeeper’s 
room.  Well,  they’re  all  alike,  all  alike ;  chatter,  chatter, 
chatter,  all  day  and  all  night.” 

Fairly’s  heart  beat  quick  as  she  returned  to  her 
room,  and  some  compunction,  too,  arose  in  her  mind 
at  having  been  drawn  in  to  speak  so  freely  on  her 
master’s  concerns ;  and  when,  with  penitent  looks,  she 
had  placed  everything  for  his  use  with  the  greatest 
care,  she  returned  to  finish  her  own  tea,  and  chat  with 
her  friend,  she  thought  it  only  right  to  endeavor,  as 
much  as  possible,  to  do  away  any  impression  she  might 
have  imbibed  to  the  disadvantage  of  her  good  master, 
and  to  admit  that  she  had  been  to  blame  in  speaking 
of  him  so  much  and  so  freely,  even  to  her  intimate 
friend.  She,  therefore,  talked  a  great  deal  to  Mrs. 
Flitters,  on  the  duty  which  it  was  in  all  housekeepers, 
but  herself  in  particular,  to  abstain  from  all  idle  bab¬ 
bling  ;  and  she  confessed  that  if  it  were  to  come  over 
again,  she  would  burn  her  fingers  before  she  would  ever 
commit  such  a  breach  of  trust,  and  gave  Mrs.  Flitters 
much  good  advice,  and  a  strict  injunction  never  to 


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speak  of  what  had  been  said,  to  anybody.  To  all  of 
which  Flitters  was  ready  to  take  her  Bible  oath  ” 
conscientiously  to  attend.  But,  alas !  when  once  a  se¬ 
cret  has  escaped  the  lips,  no  power  can  recall  it,  and 
Fairly  felt  abashed  and  ashamed  at  having  been  so 
wanting  in  proper  discretion. 

Again  her  master’s  bell  rung;  and  again  she  stood 
by  his  side,  self-condemned  and  ill  at  ease — Nor  were 
her  sensations  at  all  more  composed  when  her  master 
said,  ‘‘Company,  Fairly,  to-night,  hey? — some  gossip  or 
other  I  suppose  ?  hey  ?”  But  she  only  curtsied,  and 
moved  towards  the  door,  saying,  in  a  subdued  tone  as 
she  reached  it : — “  Oh,  not  company,  sir,  only  the  adja¬ 
cent  housekeeper.” 

What !  Mrs.  Flitters,  hey  ?  Well,  she’s  properly 
named,  however  ;  a  silly,  flutter-about  thing,  I’m  afraid. 
Well,  well,  never  mind,  she’ll  soon  learn  more  discretion 
under  your  good  teaching.  Fairly.  And  I  don’t  think 
the  worse  of  her  for  seeking  your  society.” 

Poor  Fairly  retired,  quite  overcome  with  remorse, 
feeling  how  little  she  deserved  this  unusual  kindness 
in  her  master,  and  she  mentally  vowed  a  vow  of  silence 
upon  all  family  secrets  in  future. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  Kate  Sinclair  awoke  after  her  firSi  night’s  sleep 
in  her  strange  abode,  it  was  with  vague  and  undefined 
recollection  of  the  circumstances  in  which  she  and  her 
family  were  now  placed.  Nor  could  she  for  a  time  un¬ 
loose  the  faculties  of  her  senses  sufficiently  to  realize 
the  difficulties  by  which  they  were  surrounded ;  but 
every  object  upon  which  her  eye  rested,  served  to  bring 
before  her  the  reality  of  the  sad  change  which  had  be¬ 
fallen  them  :  and  she  strove  to  rouse  in  her  mind  every 
principle  which  could  assist  her  in  humbly  submitting 
to  the  painful  situation,  into  which  they  had  been  be¬ 
trayed.  The  greatest  source  of  comfort  was  the  con¬ 
viction,  -hat  these  misfortunes  were  not  in  the  smallest 
degree  attributable  to  any  fault  in  her  beloved  parents. 
But  how  best  to  obviate  them,  she  in  vain  endeavored 
to  provide ;  she,  however,  took  the  resolution  of  exert¬ 
ing  all  her  best  powers  for  this  purpose,  and  decided 
that  as  soon  as  she  could  see  her  family  in  some  degree 
accustomed  to  their  present  embarrassing  position,  she 
would  seek  some  situation  as  governess,  or  even  as  a 
humble  companion,  and  thus  endeavor  to  earn  a  main¬ 
tenance  for  herself,  and  perhaps  some  assistance  for  her 
family.  Meanwhile,  she  would  try  to  get  some  occupa¬ 
tion  for  her  pencil.  Alas  !  poor  Kate  had  yet  to  learn 


H  O  M  E  I  S  H  O  M  E .  83 

how  many  are  the  difScmties  which  povej  ty  ever  places 
in  the  path  of  talent.. 

But  it  was  time  to  quit  these  dreamy  cogita¬ 
tions  and  to  awaken  her  little  sisters.  “  Rosy,”  as 
they  always  called  her,  soon  wound  her  little  sleepy 
arms  round  Kate,  and  murmured  in  her  ear  some 
words  of  love  and  affection;  then  sitting  up  she  rubbed 
her  eyes  and  shook  back  the  clusters  of  shining  curls 
from  her  warm  cheek,  and,  holding  open  the  curtains 
of  her  little  bed,  she  looked  about  on  the  homely  room, 
with  all  its  poor  appointments,  and  said,  “  Oh  Katie, 
dear,  what  a  strange  place,  where  am  I,  and  where 
are  Emily  and  nurse  ?  Oh,  I  remember  now,  but  I 
do  not  like  this  old  shabby  place  at  all,  why  do  we 
stay  here,  dear  Kate  A  little  fondling  and  soothing 
soon  appeased  her  childish  sorrow,  and  Kate,  ever 
ready  to  sacrifice  her  own  feelings  for  the  sake  of 
others,  exerted  herself  to  cheer  and  amuse  her  little 
sisters  while  she  dressed  them;  then,  having  heard 
them  repeat  their  simple  prayer,  she  went  forth  from 
her  chamber  refreshed  and  comforted.  She  found  her 
parents  seated  by  the  empty  grate,  for  they  had  not 
yet  admitted  Honor  to  light  their  fire  and  arrange 
their  room.  By  a  little  exertion,  however,  all  was 
soon  rendered  more  comfortable,  the  fire  soon  burnt 
brightly,  and  the  good  Honor  was  active  and  dexterous 
in  averting  every  little  trouble  or  inconvenience  which 
arose,  and  by  her  ready  tact  and  cheerful  deportment 
obviated  many  annoyanpes.  At  about  twelve  o’clock, 
she  was  despatched  to  procure  some  wood  and  vegeta¬ 
bles  :  as  she  passed  Miss  Moffat’s  door  she  caught  a 
Deep  at  the  interior  of  her  room,  and  there  she  saw 


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the  little  Scotch  girl,  whom  they  had  r.11  so  much  ad¬ 
mired  on  the  preceding  evening,  but  she  was  evidently 
in  trouble,  and  Miss  Moffat  was  talking  to  her  very 
earnestly.  On  seeing  Honor  she  rose,  and  coming  to 
the  door  she  inquired  very  kindly  for  all  the  family. 

How  are  they  a*  the  morn’  ?  I’ve  mickle  fear  tha 
are  na  sae  weel  accommodated  as  I  could  wuss,  but 
we’el  see  what  can  be  done.”  To  which  Honor  re¬ 
turned  an  assurance  that  all  was  very  well  and  com¬ 
fortable,  though  to  be  “shure  it’s  a  sad  change  /or 
them  all,  that’s  sartain  :  but  they  are  all  in  good  health, 
I  thank  the  Lord  for  that  same.”  She  then  inquired 
her  way  to  Mrs.  Crump’s,  and  having  been  directed  to 
No.  21  in  the  same  street,  she  departed  on  her  errand, 
and  Miss  Moffat  returned  to  her  weeping  charge. 
But  as  this  interruption  had  somewhat  lengthened 
poor  Maggie’s  term  of  disgrace.  Miss  Moffat  contented 
herself  by  adding  to  the  long  sermon  on  truth,  which 
for  the  last  hour  she  had  been  pouring  into  the  ears  of 
the  penitent  child,  by  saying  in  conclusion,  An  noo, 
Maggie,  I’ve  telt  ye  my  mind  ;  and  shown  ye  the 
wickedness  o’  leeing,  I  sail  say  nae  mair,  gin  ye’ll 
gie  me  your  promise  to  seek  by  the  Lord’s  grace  to 
avoid  the  like  faut  in  future.  And  gin  ye  mind  what  I 
say,  an  be  a  gude  lassie,  ye  sail  live  wi  me  an  be  nae 
mair  exposit  to  the  dangers  and  temptations  of  this 
weeked  toon.” 

Maggie  sobbed  and  promised  amendment,  and  said, 
“  Oh,  Miss  Moffat,  if  it  had  na  been  for  you^  I  suld  hae 
been  starvit  to  death.  An  noo  I’ll  strive  to  be  a  gude 
lassie  an  mind  yer  bidding  an  yer  teching  in  a’  things  1” 

Poor  little  Maggie  was  an  orphan  whom  Miss  Moffat 


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had  been  led  to  pity  and  protect.  It  happened  one  day, 
in  the  “  gloaming  of  a  summer’s  e’en,”  as  Miss  Moffat 
would  call  a  summer’s  evening,  that  she  was  called  to 
her  window,  by  the  (to  her)  heart-stirring  sounds  of 
bagpipes,  which  gave  forth  the  old  Scottish  tune  of 
Maggie  Lawdor  with  all  the  energy  and  zest  which  a 
true  Highlander  could  alone  have  produced,  and  after 
waiting  some  time,  and  listening  to  the  well-known 
strains,  nodding  her  head  in  time  to  its  measure,  and 
then,  though  no  songstress,  joining  in  the  tune  which 
recalled  so  many  early  recollections  and  pleasant  me¬ 
mories,  she  leant  out  of  the  window  in  the  hope  of  see¬ 
ing  some  emigrant  “  fra  her  ain  dear  kintra when  at 
the  end  of  the  street,  and  walking  slowly  up  the  car¬ 
riage-way,  she  saw  an  old  Highland  piper  with  his  bag¬ 
pipes  under  his  arm.  His  tartan  kilt,  though  old  and 
worn,  still  bore  the  fashion  of  his  clan,  and  his  brawny 
legs  were  bare  to  the  knees ;  his  brow  was  shaded  by  a 
Scotch  bonnet,  from  beneath  which  floated  on  the  sum¬ 
mer  breeze  his  long  locks  of  silvery  grey.  By  his  side 
was  a  pretty  fair  girl,  who  also  wore  the  dress  of  her 
country,  and  whose  glossy,  shining  hair  fell  on  her 
shoulders  unrestrained  by  cap  or  bonnet.  As  they 
walked  her  “  saft  blue  een”  were  upward  turned  to  gaze 
upon  the  face  of  the  old  man;  and  sorrowful  and 
mournful  was  her  glance ;  for  this  was  evidently  his  ex¬ 
piring  effort,  as  sickness  and  sorrow  had  done  their 
work,  and  the  poor  old  man  would  not  often  again 
awaken  the  sounds  which  he  so  dearly  loved.  For  his 
Maggie’s  sake  he  had  defied  the  grief  and  hunger 
which  were  gnawing  at  his  heart,  and  had  come  forth 
once  more  to  seek  the  means  of  providing  bread  for  his 


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little  Maggie.  Her  name  induced  the  recollection  of 
the  air  which  he  was  playing,  and  it  was  the  last  sound 
of  music  that  ever  fell  upon  his  ear. 

As  he  approached  towards  the  end  of  the  street, 
Miss  Moffat  saw  that  he  looked  faint  and  weary,  and 
the  sounds  of  the  bagpipes  became  every  moment  more 
feeble.  She  watched  the  pair  with  much  interest  as 
they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  her  window,  and  pres¬ 
ently  the  music  ceased  altogether,  and  he  saw  the  little 
girl  gently  take  the  instrument  from  the  old  man^s 
hand  and  strive  to  guide  his  tottering  frame,  but  it  was 
a  vain  effort,  for,  after  a  very  few  more  steps,  he  became 
so  weak  and  faint,  that  he  staggered  and  would  have 
fallen,  but  for  the  kind  aid  of  a  passing  stranger.  Miss 
Moffat,  whose  sympathy  had  now  reached  its  climax, 
hastily  throwing  on  a  shawl,  rushed  into  the  street,  and 
approaching  the  nOw  weeping  and  frightened  child, 
said,  in  her  broadest  Scotch  dialect,  “  Hech,  lassie,  dinna 
greet !  May  be  he’s  only  faint,  an  he’ll  be  better 
presently ;  dinna  greet,  there’s  a  gude  lassie.’*  At 
the  sound  of  the  well-known  tongue,  the  child  caught 
hold  of  the  kind  leddy’s  goun,”  and  said,  “  Hech, 
sirs !  but  I’m  feared  he’s  dying,  for  he’s  been  ill  this 
mony  a  day,  and  he  wad’na  bide  at  hame,  ye  see,  but 
has  been  aboot  the  streets  a’  ^this  het  wearyfu’  day  !” 
By  this  time  several  people  had  surrounded  the  poor 
man,  and  Miss  Moffat  directed  that  he  should  be 
brought  into  her  house,  which,  by  the  aid  of  one  or  two 
of  the  standers  by,  was  soon  effected.  Here,  placed  in 
an  easy  chair  in  the  hall.  Miss  Moffat  kindly  adminis¬ 
tered  to  him  some  warm  wine  and  other  restoratives, 
and  soon  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  hipi  par- 


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87 


tially  recovered,  though  it  was  evident  that  his  days  on 
earth  would  be  few.  Miss  Moffat  now  inquired  of  the 
child  where  they  lived,  and  why  they  were  “  sae  far  frae 
their  kintra?’^ 

And  she  told  her  that  her  name  was  Maggie  Don¬ 
aldson,”  that  the  old  man  was  her  grandfather,  and  that 
she  was  an  orphan  ;  and  then  went  on  to  say,  Ye  see, 
ma’am,  daddy  was  a  piper  in  a  Highland  regiment,  and 
he  did  na  marry  sae  sune  in  life  as  some  folk  do  ;  but 
when  he  came  frae  the  wars,  ye  ken,  leddy,  he  met  wi 
grandfather,  and  he  had  but  ane  child,  ‘  his  Jessy,’  as 
he  always  called  her,  and  sae,  ye  see,  daddy  sune  luved 
her,  and  then  they  were  married,  and  they  lived  in  a 
dear  little  cot  by  the  burnside,  and  there,  leddy,  I  was 
born,  an’  we  a’  lived  thegither ;  an’  oh  I  but  we  war 
unco  happy,  tull  daddy  took  the  fever  an’  died.  An’ 
oh !  but  it  was  a  sair  heart  that  my  dear  mither  carried 
wi’  her  abune  twa  years,  and  then,  leddy,  we  laid  her  in 
the  kirk-yard  aside  my  ain  dear  daddy ;  that  day  puir 
granddad  lost  his  sense,  an’  he  wandered  awa  wi’  his 
bagpipes,  an’  I  followed  him  at  night,  for  ye  ken  the 
hoose  was  unco  lanesome  for  me  an’  I  by  me  lane,  sae 
I  went  after  Kim,  and  sune  I  found  him  sitting  aneath 
the  tree  that  he  aye  callet  ‘  his  Jessy’s  trysting  tree,’ 
whar  she  used  to  meet  puir  daddy,  when  he  was  coming 
hame  at  e’en  fra  his  wark ;  and  there  he  sat,  leddy, 
lukeing  varra  sad,  an’  playing  on  the  pipes.  When  I 
cam  near  him,  he  rose  up  an’  patted  me  on  the  head, 
an’  callit  me  ‘  a  wee  birdie,’  an’  said,  ‘  ye  mind  me  o’ 
my.  Jessie  ;  but  ye’re  mair  like  little  Meg an’  then  he 
lookit  at  me,  an’  the  tears  ran  down  his  puir  auld  face, 
an*  tha’  did  his  heart  gude,  for  he  seemed  muir  like  to 


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hisself ;  but  I  could  na  win  him  hame,  an’  I  could  na 
leave  him,  an’  sae  ye  see  we  cam  awa  thegither,  an’  he 
wad  play  upon  the  bagpipes  a’  the  day,  an’  kind  folk 
took  pity  on  us,  an’  aft  they  gave  us  food  an’  milk,  an’ 
some  gude  people  gave  me  some  claiths ;  an’  sae,  ye  see, 
at  last  we  got  to  London,  an’  here  awhile  we  got  mair 
money  than  we  could  hae  expectit,  an’  granddad  took  a 
room  for  us  to  bide  in  thegither,  an’  he  got  much  mair 
since,  an’  we  seemed  like  to  be  happier ;  but  the  last 
three  days  we  have  had  but  little  money  giv’  us,  an’  the 
weather  is  het,  ye  see,  an’  granddad  has  na  had  enough 
to  eat,  and  sae  he  has  got  weaker,  and  mair  daft  a  gude 
deal ;  an’  noo,  I’m  thinking,  he’ll  may  be  no  be  long  wi’ 
me;  an’ wae’s  me!  I  sail  hae  nae  ain  left  to  luve 
me  I” 

During  this  simple  recital  Miss  Moffat’s  tears  fell 
fast,  and  at  times  the  faded  blue  eyes  of  the  aged  man 
were  fixed  on  Maggie,  as  if  he  caught  some  idea  of  the 
meaning  of  her  tale,  and  Miss  Moffat  heard  a  deep  sigh 
whenever  ‘^his  Jessy’s”  name  was  mentioned.  Poor 
little  Maggie  watched  liim  all  the  time  she  was  telling 
her  story,  and  handed  the  wine  to  him,  giving  him  her 
ready  aid  whenever  it  was  needed,  and  before  the  close 
of  the  narration,  she  had  won  for  herself  a  large  share  of 
Miss  Moffat’s  kind  heart  and  good  opinion.  It  was  now 
getting  late,  and  Maggie  made  her  granddad  understand 
that  it  was  time  to  go  hame ;  so  the  old  man  with  her 
assistance  rose,  and  thanked  the  gude  leddy  for  her 
kindness,  and  telling  his  grand-child  to  “  tak  great  care 
o’  the  bread  winner,”  he  donned  his  bonnet,  and  pre¬ 
pared  to  depart.  Miss  Moffat  felt  a  great  desire  to  see 
more  of  the  interesting  child  and  her  poor  daft  grand 


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father,  she  therefore  followed  them  at  a  little  iistance, 
determiniog  to  make  inquiries,  and  resolving,  if  it  proved 
to  be  a  true  story,  to  render  them  all  the  assistance 
which  her  very  limited  means  would  allow.  She  watched 
the  child  as  she  gently  led  the  poor  old  man,  and  guided 
carefully  his  feeble  steps,  or  waited  while  he  stopped  to 
recover  his  breath.  Sometimes  he  would  try  tt)  take 
from  her  his  favourite  instrument,  when  she  would  gently 
put  back  his  hand,  saying,  “  Na,  na,  dear,  ye’re  unco 
weak ;  ye  sail  hae  it  the  morrow  !”  And  thus  they 
pursued  their  way  through  two  streets,  when  they 
turned  into  a  narrow  court,  at  the  end  of  which  they 
stopped  at  the  door  of  a  small,  dingy-looking  brick 
tenement,  where  a  young  woman  was  standing,  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms.  As  they  approached  her.  Miss  Moffat 
heard  her  say  to  them,  “  Why,  Meg !  I  thought  you’d 
never  come  back  to-day.  What !  has  the  old  man  been 
worse  ?  Well,  come  in,  and  get  your  tea,  for  you  look 
tired  to  death,  poor  child  1”  They  then  all  went  into 
the  house  together. 

Miss  Moffat  did  not  like  to  follow  them  lest  they 
should  be  vexed  at  her  having  watched  them  home ;  she 
therefore  waited  a  few  moments  till  the  woman  she 
had  before  seen  again  made  her  appearance  at  the  door, 
where  she  seemed  to  find  refreshment  from  the  cool 
evening  air  after  the  hot  close  day.  Miss  Moffat  now 
addressed  her,  and  asked  her  many  questions  about 
Maggie  and  her  grandfather ;  and  finding  that  the  little 
girl’s  account  appeared  to  be  an  “  ower  true  tale,”  she 
desired  the  woman  to  tell  Maggie  to  keep  the  old  man 
at  home  till  he  was  better,  and  that  she  would  send 
them  some  “  brose  and  ilka  things  that  was  needfu.” 


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For  many  succeeding  days  poor  Miss  Mofiat’s  table 
was  ill  supplied  with*  even  necessary  food,  while  her 
poor  old  countryman  fared  better  than  he  had  for  a 
long  time.  Miss  Moffat  visited  him,  too,  ever  day,  and 
cheered  his  now  fast  declining  hours.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  it  was  evident  that  his  end  was  approaching,  and 
she  found  poor  little  Maggie  sitting  on  a  low  stool  by 
his  side,  weeping  bitterly,  and  vainly  endeavoring  to 
restore  warmth  to  the  thin  hand  which  she  was  holding 
to  her  lips.  Miss  Moffat  cheered  and  comforted  the 
old  man,  whose  fading  faculties  were  for  a  moment 
lighted  up  by  her  assurance  that  “  poor  little  Meg 
should  go  hame  with  her,”  and  she  was  rewarded  by  a 
sweet  placid  smile  from  the  dying  man.  Maggie  too 
was  recognised,  and  her  loving  pressure  of  his  hand  re¬ 
turned  by  a  feeble  grasp.  And  then  all  was  over,  and 
the  kind,  good  Scotchwoman  took  to  her  home  the  little 
weeping  orphan  and  “  was  unto  her  as  a  mother?^ 


CHAPTER  IX. 


After  receiving  Miss  Moffat’s  clear  directions  to  Mrs. 
Crump’s  the  greengrocer’s,  No.  21,  Honor  descended 
the  steps,  shaking  out  her  umbrella  and  raising  it  over 
her  head,  and  then  carefully  picking  her  vs^ay  at  a  pace 
between  walking  and  running,  she  proceeded  as  fast  as 
she  could  towards  the  shop  in  question  ;  but  before  she 
had  advanced  many  steps  a  well  known  salutation  met 
her  ears,  and  brought  the  quick  blush  to  her  cheek. 
“  The  top  of  the  morning  to  ye,  Honor  mavoureen,” 
and  Rory,  with  a  large  parcel  under  his  arm,  crept 
under  the  shade  of  her  umbrella,  and  peeped  into  her 
face,  with  his  kind,  bright  eye  and  speaking  smile. 
“  An’  whar  will  ye  be  going  ?  an’  its  och  but  I  was  quite 
right  me  darlint ;  for  thinks  I,  shure  she’ll  be  lifther 
coming  out  for  some  arn’t  at  about  twelve,  for  she  knows 
if  iver  I  can  run  away  from  the  work,  why  its  always 
at  dinner  time.”  0  Rory,  ye  don’t  think  I’d  fix  the 
hour  on  the  purpose  to  meet  ye.”  But  Rory  only 
laughed,  and  insisted  upon  carrying  the  umbrella  ;  and 
telling  her  all  that  he  could  find  utterance  for  of  his 
love,  and  regrets  at  her  being  come  “  into  such  a  far-off 
street and  then  they  paused  and  chatted,  and  then 
Honor  looked  up,  and  found  the  srop  they  were  stand¬ 
ing  near  was  No.  120,  and  so  they  had  to  retrace  their 


92 


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steps,  and  somehow  or  other  they  did  not  find  Mra 
Crump’s  shop  for  more  than  half  an  hour :  howevei 
there  they  were  at  last,  the  umbrella  was  closed,  and 
the  lovers  stood  another  moment  in  the  shelter  of  the 
doorway,  and  then,  pushing  open  a  sort  of  half  door 
making  a  sharp  little  bell  ring  till  they  started  at  the 
sound  which  would  summon  stranger  eyes  and  ears,  they 
both  entered  the  shop  and  tried  to  look  as  if  they  did 
not  belong  to  each  other,  or  any' one  in  particular.  The 
shop  was  redolent  of  scents  of  various  kinds — celery, 
apples,  and  all  sorts  of  sweet  herbs  lent  their  fragrant 
odors:  festoons  of  onions  hung  round  the  walls,  and 
formed  a  sort  of  triumphal  arch  over  the  head  of  Mrs, 
Crump,  who,  in  a  gown  of  many  colors  and  towering 
cap,  stood  behind  her  counter.  Mrs.  Crump  was  very 
short  and  very  fat,  and  her  cheeks  seemed  to  descend  in 
soft  bags  on  to  her  short  neck ;  the  band,  round  that  part 
t  of  the  figure  which  was  supposed  to  represent  the  waist, 

lest  it  should  quite  disappear  was  fastened  loosely  with 
a  very  large  white  pin  ;  this  band  afforded  great  recrea¬ 
tion  to  Mrs.  Crump,  as  it  was  constantly  requiring  n^w 
placing,  the  large  pin,  meanwhile,  finding  a  safe  hiding- 
place  in  Mrs.  Crump’s  wide  mouth:  and  as  Mrs.  Crump 
had  just  found  this  arrangement  of  her  dress  needful, 
it  was  not  until  Honor  had  a  little  recovered  herself 
that  she  was  asked  the  usual  question  of  “  What  can  I 
do  for  you,  ma’am  ?”  Honor’s  errand  was  soon  told, 
and  Mrs.  Crump  waddled  across  her  shop,  unpinning 
and  pinning  as  she  went,  and  dived  into  a  sort  of  cellar 
to  find  the  little  bundles  of  firewood,  and  to  pick  from 
her  baskets  some  of  her  finest  potatoes.  During  this 
time  Honor  and  Rory  got  a  few  more  words  at  the  door 


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together,  and  while  they  were  thus  standing  and  whis¬ 
pering  another  customer  approached  the  counter  and 
addressed  Mrs.  Crump,  who  had  now  returned  to  her 
triumphal  arch.  This  was  a  woman  in  a  faded  black 
gown,  with  a  small  old  black  bonnet,  and  a  weather- 
Btainei  red  shawl;  she  asked  Mrs.  Crump  the  price  of 
apples,  taking  one  up  in  her  hand,  and  pushing  her 
thumb  well  into  its  yellow  skin,  making  a  deep  inden¬ 
tation  in  the  mealy  fruit,  she  asked  the  price.  “  Three 
a  penny,  missis,  and  cheap  enough  I  knows :  vy,  they 
cost  me  more.”  The  woman  felt  in  her  pocket  and  found 
a  penny,  and  taking  up  from  the  heap  in  the  window 
three  of  the  largest  she  could  see,  moved  towards  the 
door.  She  paused  as  she  passed  Honor,  and  took  a 
hasty  survey  of  her  and  her  lover,  and  then  went  out  of 
the  shop  munching  an  apple. 

When  she  was  gone,  Mrs.  Crump  observed,  “  Veil, 
I’m  glad  she  has  made  up  her  mind,  for  I’m  blessed  if 
she  hasn’t  looked  at  them  apples  twenty  times  this  ere 
blessed  morning  ;  but  there  hisn’t  no  pleasing  them  un- 
fort’nate  critturs  as  hasn’t  got  above  a  penny  in  their 
pockets.” 

Honor’s  things  were  now  all  ready,  and  she  with 
Rory,  departed ;  but  it  will  be  believed  they  did  not 
reach  home  immediately,  for  Rory  had  much  to  say. 
The  parcel  which  he  carried  was  the  treasured  work* 
box  for  Miss  Kate,  and  how  to  dispose  of  it  so  as  to 
prevent  her  guessing  who  had  sent  it  to  her  puzzled 
poor  Rory’s  brains.  “Ye  see.  Honor,”  he  said,  “ ye 
must  understhand  not  to  let  her  be  thinking  that  I— 
Well  there,  ye  knows  me  maning,  set  it  in  its  place, 
and  there  let  her  find  it ;  but  dont  let  her  feel  that 


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liOMfi  tS  HOM£. 


she  owes  it  to  such  a  poor  gossoon  as  xlory.  HowiV* 
ver,  I  needn’t  be  telling  ye,  Honor,  for  I  know  ye 
won’t  do  anything  but  what’s  befitting  us,  and  propel 
like,  but  I’m  stupid  at  the  maning.  Well,  here’s  the 
box,  an’  now  when  will  I  see  ye  again  ?  sure  ye’ll  come 
out  at  twelve  o’clock  when  yc  can  ;  but  I  musn’t  stay  now, 
BO  every  blessing  be  about  ye,  and  God  be  wid  ye.” 

The  kind,  good-hearted  fellow  gave  the  box  into 
Honor’s  care,  and  ran  off.  Honor  watched  him  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  slowly  ascended  the  steps  of 
the  house ;  standing  again  for  a  moment  when  ishe 
reached  the  door,  she  saw  the  woman  in  the  red  shawl 
pass  and  look  up  at  her  and  then  go  on  her  way,  eat. 
ing  an  apple  as  she  walked.  Honor  thought  it  strange, 
for  this  woman  had  several  times  crossed  her  path 
while  she  was  with  Rory,  and  seemed  certainly  to  have 
some  object  in  making  her  out ;  and  Honor  could  not 
help  thinking  that  she  had  seen  her  before.  Where 
could  it  have  been?”  well,  she  could  not  remember, 
and  “  it  was  of  no  manner  of  consequence.”  So  she 
closed  the  door,  and  went  up  stairs,  to  account  in  the 
best  way  she  could  for  her  long  absence. 

Mrs.  Sinclair  was  resting  on  her  bed,  and  Mr.  Sin¬ 
clair  was  seated  at  a  table,  moodily  looking  over  some 
bills  and  papers.  Honor  quietly  passed  through  the 
room  and  knocked  at  Kate’s  door,  which  was  partly 
opened  instantly  by  little  Rose,  who  held  up  her  finger 
and  told  Honor  to  be  still,  and  not  speak  a  word,  for 
what  they  were  doing  was  a  great  secret.  Kate  was 
sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  was  busily  occu¬ 
pied  in  cutting  in  lengths  some  blue  striped  printed  cot¬ 
ton,  of  a  common  description,  whilst  Emily  was  running 


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@5 


of  these  lengths  together,  and  Charles  was  mak» 
ing  a  sort  of  frame-work  of  upright  flat  pieces  ol 
wood,  at  the  distance  of  two  or  three  feet  apart ;  all 
were  busy,  and  Honor  much  wondered  what  could  fee 
the  purpose  or  intention  of  their  work  ;  but  Charles 
soon  let  her  into  the  secret,  fey  telling  her  that  they 
were  trying  to  make  a  long  partition  to  screen  the  feed- 
room  part  of  the  studio  from  the  part  which  they  occu¬ 
pied  as  a  sitting-room.  Charles  said  he  had  been  put¬ 
ting  the  frame  together  ever  since  he  came  there  ;  and 
that  fortunately  Kate  had  found  among  their  clothing 
some  wliole  pieces  of  blue  striped  print,  which  had  been 
intended  for  another  purpose  at  home,'  and  now  they 
should  make  a  complete  division  across  the  narrowest 
part  of  the  room,  which  would  make  “  dear  mamma”  so 
much  more  comfortable.  Honor  was  strictly  enjoined 
secrecy,  as  it  must  still  occupy  some  days  before  ifc 
could  be  ready  to  put  in  its  place.  Honor  begged  to 
be  employed,  and  it  was  settled  that  in  the  evenings 
she  should  lend  her  aid  in  putting  the  breadths  of  print 
together  ;  she  was  quite  delighted  to  see  all  the  party  so 
happily  engaged,  and  felt  great  relief  at  being  asked 
no  questions  relative  to  her  absence. 

It  was  now  time  to  make  somie  preparations  for  their 
frugal  dinner,  and  Honor  departed  to  get  everything 
ready ;  but  she  soon  came  back,  and  called  out  Charles, 
who  was  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  wanted  by  Miss 
Moflfatt  in  the  hall,  and  still  more  so,  when  he  found 
that  good  lady  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  large  assem¬ 
blage  of  packages  of  all  sorts  and  descriptions,  which 
she  assured  him  were  ‘‘  a’  direckit  to  him  and  his 
family.”  Everything  was  so  carefully  enveloj»ed  in 


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pieces  of  matting  that  nothing  could  be  seen  of  theil 
contents,  but  all  were  directed  in  a  stiff  school-boy’i 
hand  to  some  member  of  his  family.  What  could  they 
all  be,  and  where  could  they  be  come  from  1  All  that 
Miss  Moffatt  knew  was,  that  while  she  herself  was 
gone  out  a  man  had  arrived  with  a  spring  waggon  at  her 
door,  and  had  told  Maggie  that  he  was  to  “  put  them 
goods  inside,  in  the  hall that  the  child,  supposing  they 
belonged  to  her  mistress,  had  received  them ;  and  that 
as  soon  as  all  the  things  were  safely  deposited  the 
man  drove  off;  that  he  stopped  again  directly,  and  took 
up  a  woman  into  the  van,  and  then  they  drove  away  as 
fast  as  they  could.  While  this  account  was  given, 
Charles  was  busily  employed  in  examining  one  of  the 
packages  which  was  directed  to  “  Master  Charles  Sin¬ 
clair.”  First  one  bit  of  matting  and ’then  another 
was  removed,  and  then  a  hayband  was  untwisted,  till 
at  length  there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  its  contents. 
Uttering  a  cry  of  real  delight,  Charles  summoned  Honor 
to  lend  a  hand,”  and  between  them  this  treasure,  what¬ 
ever  it  might  be,  was  safely  landed  on  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  and  Honor  was  directed  in  a  whisper  to  go  and 
collect  all  the  party  in  the  outer  room,  and  then  to 
come  to  him  again.  While  she  was  gone,  Charles  took 
off  all  the  coverings  which  obscured  his  cherished  trea¬ 
sure,  and  wiped  the  dust  from  every  part  of  it,  and  then, 
on  being  summoned  by  the  servant,  ran  into  the  room, 
saying,  “  Robinson  Crusoe’s  first  return  from  the  wreck,” 
and  placed  before  their  astonished  eyes  his  tavorite  little 
turning-lathe,  and  the  set  of  chessmen  he  had  been  so 
busily  engaged  in  making  for  his  dear  mother.  All 
now  crowded  round  Charles,  and  on  hearing  his  account 


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of  the  things  which  were  below,  they  joined  in  declaring 
their  readiness  to  accompany  Robinson  on  this  next 
expedition,  and  eve^  Mr.  Sinclair  agreed  to  “  lend  a 
hand.” 

Speedily  were  the  things  unpacked,  and  carried  up 
into  the  studio.  Emily  and  Rose  clapped  their  hands 
with  joy  and  delight,  when  “  Crusoe,”  as  they  called 
him,  announced  that  the  two  little  nursery  bedsteads, 
with  all  their  belongings,  were  among  the  next  cargo  on 
the  raft.”  Ry  degrees  everything  was  unpacked,  and 
examined,  and  gfeat  was  the  happiness  of  the  children 
when  they  found  that  dear  papa’s  painting  materials  and 
easel  were  amongst  the  recovered  treasures.  “  Dear 
Katie’s  ”  pretty  French  bed  and  writing-table  were  also 
there  ;  a  few  nice  drawings  in  water  colors,  and  a 
pretty  work-l)ox,  which  belonged  to  Mrs.  Sinclair : — 
in  short,  no  one  was  forgotten,  and  all  were  happy  and 
grateful  to  their  unknown  friend  and  benefactor.  One 
large  package  still  remained  unopened  in  the  hall ;  stand¬ 
ing  in  a  dark  corner,  it  had  been  overlooked  ;^nd  this 
proved  to  be  a  nice  carpet,  of  which  Charles  took  pos¬ 
session,  and  determined  to  keep  it  in  his  own  room 
till  the  new  partition  was  completed. 

They  were  now  all  busily  employed  in  arranging 
and  placing  everything  in  the  nicest  order ;  and  for 
days  all  felt  the  relief  afforded  by  constant,  active  occu¬ 
pation,  and  Kate  had  the  unspeakable  comfort  of  see¬ 
ing  her  father  and  mother  gradually  assuming  their 
usually  cheerful  manner.  During  these  pleasing  occu¬ 
pations,  the  minds  of  all  were  busy  in  forming  surmi¬ 
ses  and  conjectures  as  to  who  could  have  so  kindly  con¬ 
oid  ored  them  in  their  present  difficulties  ;  but  no  clue 

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appeared  which  could  at  all  elucidate  the  mystery.  Qfl 
opening  one  package,  which  they  supposed  had  been  in¬ 
tended  to  be  the  first  to  meet  their  eye,  for  it  was  mark¬ 
ed  No.  I,  a  card  fell  on  the  floor,  with  these  words: 
“  A  loan  from  a  friend  ne’er  can  wound  or  offend  and 
as  a  loan  Mr.  Sinclair  resolved  to  accept  the  benefit  for 
his  children’s  sake,  earnestly  hoping  the  day  might  conae 
when  his  secret  friend  would  declare  himself  and  per¬ 
mit  him  in  some  form  or  other  to  repay  him.  In  a 
few  days  Charles’  screen  was  finished,  when,  taking 
advantage  of  the  temporary  absence  of  his  mother,  who 
now  took  a  short  walk  each  day  with  Mr.  Sinclair,  the 
children,  with  Honor’s  assistance,  got  the  carpet  laid 
and  the  partition  erected.  This  screen  was  about  six 
feet  high,  and  with  its  pretty  striped  blue  facing,  added 
much  to  the  snug  and  neat  appearance  of  the  room. 
The  carpet,  too,  fitted  nicely,  now  that  the  room  was 
smaller,  and  when  unrolled,  a  warm  rug  had  been  found 
within  its  folds,  which  rug  Charles  placed  before  the 
fire,  and  then  the  children  (juickly  arranged  the  furni¬ 
ture,  an  J  placed  the  plaster  busts  and  fi>gures  round  the 
room  in  the  most  picturesque  groups.  A  few  small 
billets  of  wood  were  thrown  on  the  fire  and  sent  up  a 
bright  and  cheerful  blaze,  and  Honor  exclaimed  with 
delight,  “  Och,  thin,  it’s  the  blessing  from  the  Lord 
entirely,  when  the  childer  provides  for  the  comfort  of 
their  parents,  and  may  His  blessing  be  upon  ye  all  for 
iver  and  iver.  Amen.'^’ 

And  now  a  sound  is  heard,  and  Charles  says,  “  Here 
they  come  :  Kate,  Rose,  Emily,  sit  down,  sit  down.  Ho 
nor,  dear,  ]/ou  must  stay  to  see  their  surprise,  so  you 
can  open  the  door.  There  now,  all  is  ready : — oh,  it  iM 


HOMi!  is  itOME, 


most  charming.”  Charles  cut  a  caper,  kissed  his  sisters 
all  round,  shook  hands  with  Honor,  and  was  in  an  ec 
stasy  of  happiness  when  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
dear  ones,  for  whom  these  kind  exertions  had  been  made, 
entered,  exclaiming,  “  Oh,  how  »ice  I  how  very,  very 
nice  !  how  has  all  this  been  managed,  my  dear,  good 
children  Mr.  Sinclair’s  lip  quivered  as  he  took  the 
hands  of  Kate  and  Charles,  and  looked  with  fond  affec* 
tion  and  pride  on  the  sweet,  happy  and  confiding  coun¬ 
tenances  of  his  children.  Everything  was^  now  duly 
admired,  and  the  great  improvements  much  com^ 
mended.  The  evening  closed  in  peace,  and  even  cheer¬ 
fulness  ;  and,  while  offering  up  from  his  inmost  heart  a 
thanksgiving  to  that  God  who  had  bestowed  on  him  the 
unspeakable  blessing  of  such  good  and  amiable  children, 
Mr.  Sinclair  blushed  at  the  recollection  of  his  own  de¬ 
spondency  and  want  of  energy,  and  he  determined  to 
imitate  the  virtue  which  in  others  he  so  much  admired. 
Long  and  bitter  was  the  communion  which  he  held  that 
night  with  his  own  heart : — how  had  he  indulged  in 
grief  and  anxiety  !  how  helplessly  was  he  yielding  tc 
the  torrent  which  threatened  to  overwhelm  him  in 
utter  and  entire  ruin,  and  the  still  voice  was  heard, 
which  bade  him  up,  and  be  doing,”  and  to  wake 
from  the  sleep  of  indolence,  which  was  his  besetting 
sin.”  The  thoughts  and  feelings  of  that  night  were  aS 
wholesome  medicine  to  the  mind  diseased,  and  thd 
morning  saw  him  an  altered  being* 

A  clear  investigation  of  his  accounts  was  now  under¬ 
taken.  Mr.  Pleydell  had  written  to  him,  and  stated 
the  result  of  the  sale,  and  also  that  some  creditors  were 
willing  to  give  time  for  the  settlement  of  their  accounts  j 


100 


HOM£  tS  UOMil. 


60  that  there  would  be  a  small  sum  to  meet  present  ex¬ 
igencies.  All  this  was  in  some  measure  cheering,  but  it 
was  evident  that  all  must  exert  themselves.  Kate  hail¬ 
ed  with  real  pleasure  the  altered  demeanor  of  her  father^ 
and  she  now  ventured  to  propose  to  him  that  she  should 
seek  a  home  in  some  family  as  a  governess.  It  was  a 
struggle,  but  consent  was  given,  and  Kate  lost  no  time 
in  writing  to  her  former  governess  Miss  Hartop,  re¬ 
questing  her  to  aid  her  in  seeking  some  situation  which 
might  suit  one  so  inexperienced  as  she  felt  herself  to 
be,  in  the  arduous  task  of  tuition  :  but  some  days  must 
elapse  ere  Kate  could  receive  an  answer  to  this  letter, 
as  Miss  Hartop  was.  as  she  believed,  with  some  family 
iu  Scotland. 


CHAPTER  X 


It  was  now  the  second  week  in  December,  and  a  brigh* 
clear  frost  had  succeeded  to  the  dull  and  foggy  days  of 
the  last  month.  Charles  and  his  sisters  took  short 
walks  near  home,  but  all  longed  for  the  freedom  and 
recreations  to  which  at  this  season  they  had  always  been 
accustomed.  None,  however,  would  whisper  even 
their  secret  wishes,  and  they  steadily  pursued  their 
self-imposed  duties  and  employments. 

One  morning,  when  Charles  had  been  irresistibly 
drawn  to  the  window,  and  was  standing  meditating 
within  himself  the  possibility  of  proposing  a  long  walk 
into  the  country,  and  wondering  whether  it  would  be 
infringing  on  the  laws  of  seclusion  which  he  believed 
had  been  decided  upon,  he  was  surprised  and  delighted 
by  his  .father’s  suddenly  saying,  “  Come,  Charles,  I  see 
the  bright  sun  has  been  tempting  you  to  run  away  from 
the  restraints  imposed  upon  you,  and  I  can  quite  enter 
into  all  your  feelings,  my  boy  ;  what  say  you  to  a  long 
walk  ?  Suppose  you  go  to  Fairburn,  and  call  on  your 
old  acquaintances  the  Hunters.  I  dare  say  they  will 
give  you  such  a  welcome  as  you  have  often  given  to 
them  in  former  days. 

This  was  indeed  delightful :  not  that  he  cared  for 
the  Hunters,  at  least  not  all  of  them,  but  it  would  be 


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60  charming  after  such  a  long  absence  from  all  hia 
friends ;  and  Charles,  uttering  his  thanks,  hastily  de¬ 
scended  to  his  room  to  prepare  for  what  he  felt  was 
quite  an  event. 

Mr.  Sinclair  took  the  opportunity  of  his  absence  to 
explain  to  his  wife,  that  he  had  been  for  some  days  con¬ 
sidering  that,  as  there  was  no  necessity  for  the  restraint 
he  had  imposed,  it  would  only  be  right  to  let  the  young 
people  mix  occasionally  with  their  old  acquaintances, 
and  give  them,  perhaps,  an  opportunity  of  interesting 
others  in  their  future  prospects  in  life,  adding,  “  Mr. 
Hunter,  you  know,  is  well  connected,  and  has,  I  believe, 
some  influence  which  might  be  useful  to  Charles,  and 
it  is  only  a  duty  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  benefiting  by 
his  friendly  interest.” 

In  a  short  time  Charles  appeared,  dressed  as  in  hap¬ 
pier  days,  and  with  a  bright  look  of  self-gratulation  and 
delighted  anticipation,  he  hastily  received  some  fare¬ 
well  instructions  and  directions  from  his  father  and  ran 
off,  half  fearing  a  recall,  indeed  not  feeling  at  all  sure 
that  he  really  should  be  allowed  such  a  happiness  ;  and 
it  was  not  till  he  had  passed  through  two  streets  that 
he  could  induce  himself  to  give  up  the  idea  that  every 
footstep  behind  him  was  some  emissary  come  to  fetch 
hinL  back,  and  he  almost  ran  that  he  might  get  as 
quickly  as  possible  out  of  such  a  dangerous  proximity. 

Fairburn  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half  beyond 
Belmont,  but,  by  taking  a  short  cut,  Charles  intended 
to  avoid  passing  the  dear  old  house,  resolving  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  all  who  would  recognize  him 
till  he  had  seen  the  Hunters  ;  and  now  he  had  passed 
all  the  streets  and  turned  into  the  lanes  which  led  to 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


103 


Fairburn ;  the  roads  were  hard  and  crisp,  and  a  beau¬ 
tiful  hoar  frost  bespangled  every  tree  and  spray, 
lighted  brilliantly  by  a  mid-day  sun ;  some  snow  had 
fallen,  and  still  in  places  the  ground  was  white  and 
shining.  Charles’  spirits  rose  to  a  bounding  height, 
and  ho  could  scarcely  resist  joining  a  party  of  boys 
who  were  sliding  on  a  pond  which  he  was  passing,  but 
a  glance  at  his  bright  boots,  and  the  recollection  that 
he  must  appear  to  the  best  advantage  at  Fairburn 
checked  him,  and  suddenly  pushing  the  end  of  his 
walking-stick  through  some  crackling  ice  on  his  path, 
he  began  to  soliloquize  on  his  probable  reception  from 
the  Hunters.  I  wonder  what  they’ll  all  be  doing, 
and  whether  Flora  will  be  there  ?  Mrs.  Hunter  is  al 
ways  kind,  but  I  have  known  the  boys  strange  some^ 
times — Frank  is  shy — but  we  are  such  old  acquaint¬ 
ances — surely  they  will  not  like  me  the  less,  because  we 
are  become  poor  and  unfortunate!”  But  the  bright 
expectations  which  had  hitherto  been  indulged  re¬ 
ceived  a  sudden  check,  and  Charles  began  to  look 
himself  over  with  an  anxiety  as  to  his  appearance 
which  he  had  never  felt  before ;  well,  on  he  went, 
however,  and  now  the  park  paling,  which  separated  the 
grounds  from  the  public  path,  was  passed,  and  Charles 
entered  the  handsome  iron  gate  which  admitted  him 
to  the  sloping  lawn  leading  up  to  the  house  ;  passing 
along  by  the  side  of  a  small  piece  of  water,  he  paused 
to  look  at  the  dear  old  boat  now  safe  in  its  picturesque 
boat-house  and  to  notice  the  many  marks  *of  skates 
on  the  ice,  and  as  he  proceeded  up  the  carriage-road 
to  the  house,  he  was  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the 
trees  and  shrubs,  which  were  chiefly  evergreens,  and 


104  HOMEISHOME, 

were  now  decorated  with  sparkling  wreaths  of  the 
light  silvery  snow  and  hoar  frost.  As  he  approached 
the  house,  he  saw  one  of  the  4)oys  at  the  window,  and, 
as  he  instantly  turned  away,  Charles  thought,  ^‘All 
right :  there’s  Spencer,  and  he’s  coming,  I’m  sure,  to 
meet  me  reaching  at  last  the  door  of  entrance,  which 
was  at  the  side  of  the  house,  he  stopped  a  moment, 
thinking  that  “surely  Spencer  would  soon  join  him, 
and  that  he  should  feel  less  uncomfortable  than  if  he 
went  in  by  himself,”  and  then  wondering,  “why  he 
felt  afraid  now,  more  than  in  former  days,”  he  decided 
that  such  feelings  were  quite  “  unworthy  of  a  gentle¬ 
man,  and  very  idle  and  foolish,”  and  he  magnanjmously 
pulled  the  large  bell-handle  at  the  side  of  the  portico, 
but  the  loud  twanging  sound  of  the  bell,  which  ap¬ 
peared  to  Charles  to  ring  lOnger  and  louder  than  he 
had  ever  before  heard  it,  banished  his  newly  acquired 
courage,  and  Charles  felt  with  some  annoyance,  that 
his  heart  was  beating  and  his  cheek  blushing,  when 
the  servant  opened  the  door.  “Yes,  they  were  all  at 
home,”  was  the  answer  to  his  inquiry,  and  Charles 
followed  the  man  into  the  house,  and  turned  on  the 
right  into  the  well-known  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  seated  at  a  writing-table  near  a 
window,  and  by  her  side  sat  a  girl  of  about  fifteen,  very 
pretty  and  very  fair,  with  a  delicate  figure  and  fashion¬ 
ably  long  waist ;  by  the  fire  at  each  end  of  the  rug  and 
in  easy  chairs  sat,  or  rather  lounged,  two  young  men  of 
eighteen  and  twenty,  and  a  younger  boy  was  standing 
busily  watching  the  gambols  of  a  Skye  terrier  whose 
wiry  hairs  were  bristling  with  excitement,  as  the  elder 
lads  incited  him  to  fly  across  the  rug,  and  snap  at  the 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


105 


sliming  boots  which  were  held  out  in  pretended  effort 
to  tread  upon  his  feet.  All  this  was  seen  in  a  moment, 
as  the  man  ushered  Charles  in,  and,  at  his  name  being 
announced,  Mrs.  Huntei*  immediately  rose  and  held  out 
her  hand,  addressing  him  as  “  Charles”  and  kindly  in¬ 
quiring  for  “  all  at  home but,  kind  as  she  was,  Charles 
could  not  feel  quite  as  much  at  ease  as  usual,  and  he 
felt  that  he  was  shy  and  constrained ;  the  young  men 
rose,  and  languidly  addressed  him,  and  Flora  also  held 
out  her  hand.  “  Nothing  to  complain  of,”  thought 
Charles,  and  he  tried  to  “  be  as  usual,”  bat  he  felt  the 
absence  of  cordiality ;  and  presently  the  elder  boys  be¬ 
gan,  by  sly  snaps  of  the  finger  and  thumb,  and  whisper¬ 
ed  words  of  encouragement,  to  excite  “  Tackle”  to  fresh 
play  and  fun,  but  no  look  included  Charles,  and  an 
awkward  pause  induced  Mrs.  Hunter  to  propose  that 
Spencer,  the  younger  one,  should  go  and  see  if  Mr 
Hunter  was  in  the  study,  saying,  that  she  was  sure  he 
would  wish  to  see  Charles.”  Spencer,  whose  ambition 
it  was  to  follow  the  lead  of  his  brothers,  passed  Charles 
without  much  notice,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  eld^r 
lads  summoned  Tackle,  and  muttering  something  about 
the  “  governor,”  sauntered  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Hunter 
felt  annoyed,  and  pitying  Charles’  look  of  distress  she  in¬ 
sisted  upon  his  coming  near  the  fire,  and  tried  to  induce 
Flora  to  talk  a  little  ;  but  Flora  was  shy,  or  at  least  such 
was  the  excuse  which  Charles  mentally  admitted,  and  for 
some  moments  an  embarrassing  silence  prevailed,  bro¬ 
ken  only  by  sudden  questions  from  Mrs.  Hunter,  which 
were  speedily  answered,  and  silence  again  ensued ;  at 
last  Charles  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  from  whence 
he  could  see  the  pond  on  which  he  had  passed  so  many 


106 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


hours  in  winter  and  summer,  and  there  he  now  saw  the 
elder  Hunters  enjoying  a- brisk  run  on  their  skates,  fol¬ 
lowed  by  Tackle  who  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  great 
delight :  in  another  moment  Spencer  ran  down  the  lawn 
and  joined  his  brothers.  For  a  few  moments  Charles 
stood  silently  indulging  in  a  reverie,  v  hich  certainly 
did  not  act  very  favorably  on  his  opinion  of  his  former 
friends,  but  he  was  roused  from  these  cogitations  by 
Mrs.  Hunter,  who  said,  Surely  that  idle  boy  forgot 
to  tell  his  papa  that  you  are  here,  Charles ;  I’ll  go^my- 
self  and  find  him.” 

As  soon  as  she  had  left  the  room.  Flora  rose  and 
walked  to  the  window  which  corresponded  with  that  at 
which  Charles  stood,  and  stooping  down,  she  took  from 
the  white  mat  on  which  it  lay,  a  favourite  little  black 
and  white  spaniel  which  had  been  for  some  time  curled 
round  in  a  most  reposing  attitude  ;  holding  up  its  little 
black  face,  she  fondly  patted  it,  and  stroked  and  pulled 
its  long  and  black  ears,  saying,  in  a  very  soft  voice. 
Tiny,  sweet  Tiny,  oh,  you  dear  little  soft  idle  thing ; 
isn’t  she  pretty,  Charles  ?  She  will  never  grow  any 
larger,  and  she  is  such  a  darling  and  Flora  walked 
towards  Charles,  caressing  Tiny  as  she  approached  him. 
Glad  of  some  occupation,  CJiarles  stroked  and  admired 
the  animal ;  and  then  feeling  that  with  Flora  he  might 
throw  off  some  of  his  newly  acquired  restraint,  he  said, 
“  And  too,  Flora,  seem  to  have  decided  that  it  is 
time  to  forget  me.” 

“  Not  at  all,  not  so,  I  assure  you,  Charles ;  but  every 
body  seemed  so  stiff  and  so  cold,  that  I  did  not  know 
what  I  had  better  say  or  do ;  but  I  hate  such  silly 
pride,  and  I  cannot  think  where  Percy  and  Edward 


^OlkiE  IS  HOME. 


10? 


have  acquired  such  foolish  notions.  I  am  but  a  child, 
Charles,  but  you  will  believe  me,  I  know,  when  I  tell 
you,  that  1  love  you  all  as  dearly  as  I  ever  did,  and  I 
am  sure  mamma  does ;  but  those  silly  boys  have  just 
comeback  from  Oxford,  and  they  talk  of  nothing  but  ‘  Ox^ 
ford  men^  by  which  mamma  says  she  supposes  they 
mean  ‘green  geese^  like  themselves:  so  >now  do  not 
mind  their  folly,  dear  Charles,  but  be  as  happy  with 
us  as  you  used and  the  really  kind  little  girl  held  out 
her  disengaged  hand  to  Charles,  closely  hugging  Tiny 
with  the  other ;  but  by  this  time  Charles’  spirit  had 
flagged,  and  the  kind  tone  of  his  former  fayorite  quite 
overcame  him  ;  he  took  her  ofl’ered  hand,  however,  and 
hastily  turning  away  his  head,  pretended  to  busy  him¬ 
self  for  a  moment  with  the  scene  before  him.  While 
thus  occupied,  a  pony  phaeton  with  a  lady,  and  a  servant 
driving,  approached  the  house,  and  Flora,  exclaiming 
“  Oh,  there’s  that  strange  Miss  Melville !”  suddenly 
ran  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Charles  alone,  quite  per¬ 
plexed  and  ashamed  at  not  having  replied  to  her  kind 
address  except  by  a  slight  pressure  of  the  hand  which 
she  had  presented  to  him. 

Short  time,  however,  was  there  for  Charles  to  in¬ 
dulge  his  thoughts  on  this  subject,  for  in  another  mo¬ 
ment  a  servant  threw  the  door  wide  open  and  announced 
in  a  loud  and  more  than  usually  pompous  manner,  “  The 
Honorable  Miss  Melville and  a  tall,  aristocratic-look¬ 
ing  lady,  followed  by  three  or  four  dogs,  entered  the 
room :  she  was  dressed  with  more  attention  to  extreme 
neatness  than  to  any  reigning  fashion,  although  there 
was  nothing  in  her  appearance  which  could  lie  con¬ 
sidered  in  defiance  of  its  most  exigeant  rules,  except, 


108 


HOME  IS  HOME* 


perhaps,  that  the  still  very  fine  outline  of  the  figure 
was  less  obscured  by  German  innovations  than  some 
younger  ladies  might  have  deemed  advisable ;  in  age, 
she  was  at  that  peculiar  crisis  when  it  is  difficult  to  say 
to  which  class  she  would  belong  ;  as,  though  decidedly 
not  old,  she  would  have  been  shocked  at  being  included 
among  the  yDung ;  erect  in  figure  and  with  a  rather  lofty 
step  and  bearing,  Miss  Melville  was  most  gentle  and 
kind  in  her  general  demeanor,  though,  when  annoyed 
by  any  appearance  of  pride  in  those  whom  she  considered 
as  “parvenues”  or  “nouveau  riche,”  she  was  at  times 
abrupt,  and  even  severe. 

On  entering  the  room,  seeing  only  Charles  standing 
at  the  window,  and  concluding  that  he  was  one  of  the 
young  Hunters,  she  advanced  towards  him,  but  seeing, 
as  it  seemed,  a  .stranger,  she  bent  slightly,  and  seated 
herself  in  an  easy  chair  neat  the  fire.  Charles,  who  had 
previously  met  her  at  a  friend’s  house,  accepted  this  as 
a  new  proof  of  the  enmity  of  the  world  in  general,  and 
felt  still  more  distrait,  but  his  shy  look  induced  Miss 
Melville,  who  was  very  near-sighted,  to  take  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  raising  her  glass,  when  she  instantly  and  with 
the  most  frank  and  agreeable  manner  walked  towards 
him,  extending  her  hand,  and  saying,  “  I  beg  your  par¬ 
don,  Mr.  Sinclair,  I  really  did  not  recognize  you,  but 
you  must  forgive  me  for  my  sight  is  so  very  imperfect 
and,  entering  into  conversation,  she  chatted  so  agreeably 
and  introduced  Charles  to  all  her  favorites  in  such  a 
lively  manner,  that  he  felt  quite  restored  tc  his  own 
good  opinion ;  and  when  Mrs.  Hunter  entered,  she 
found  him  and  Miss  Melville  talking  and  laughing  most 
cheerfully,  and  all  the  cold  restraint  which  had  so 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


109 


cruelly  oppressed  her  young  visitor  seemed  to  have  dis¬ 
appeared.  But  this  happy  state  of  things  did  not  long 
continue,  for  in  a  very  few  moments  the  young  men  all 
cade  their  appearance,  and  with  an  assumed  air  of 
yle  and  fashion  they  approached  and  laid  claim  to 
Miss  Melville’s  notice :  she  spoke  to  them  all  kindly, 
but  with  more  constraint  than  she  had  shown  towards 
Charles,  and  she  did  not  at  all  encourage  the  ecstasy 
of  admiration  which  they  bestowed  upon  her  pets,  only 
smiling  with  a  somewhat  doubtful  air  when  Percy  de¬ 
clared  that  “  Rover”  was  worth  “  twenty  guineas she 
looked  down  on  Rover,  however,  with  an  approving  eye, 
which  was  answered  by  him  with  doglike  gratitude,  and 
he  jumped  and  writhed  around  her  with  much  apparent 
satisfaction.  Miss  Melville  was  now  apparently  en¬ 
grossed  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Hunter,  for  whom 
she  evidently  entertained  a’  friendly  feeling :  this,  how¬ 
ever,  did  not  prevent  her  noticing  the  absurd  behavior 
of  the  two  would-be  fashionable  young  men,  who  in 
short  shooting  coats  and  many-colored  waistcoats  and 
neck  ties,  were  decorated  with  as  many  bright  chains, 
and  rings  and  pins  as  might  qualify  them  for  the  situa¬ 
tion  of  “  travellers  on  their  own  account occupied 
with  themselves  and  their  great  desire  to  appear  to  ad¬ 
vantage  before  an  “  Honorable,”  and  wishing  for  ^ome 
opportunity  of  introducing  their  cousin,  the  member  of 
parliament,  whose  relationship  they  estimated  as  add 
ing  much  to  the  Hunter  distinctions,  they  totally  forgot 
poor  Charles’  presence,  till  the  door  once  more  opened 
and  a  servant  addressed  Mrs.  Hunter,  saying,  “  that 
master  was  disengaged  now,”  and  Mrs.  Hunter  told 
Charles  that  he  would  find  him  in  the  study,  adding 


110 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


You  know  your  way,  Charles.”  No  ready  offer  from 
either  lad  to  accompany  him  met  his  ear,  and  he  there¬ 
fore  hastily  crossed  the  room  alone,  feeling  quite  glad 
when  the  door  closed  behind  him :  he  made  his  way  to 
the  study,  passing  an  open  door  which  disclosed  the 
large  billiard-room  divested  of  all  furniture  and  in  pro¬ 
gress  of  decoration,  proving  that  the  usual  winter  ball 
was  soon  to  take  place ;  he  sighed,  as  he  recollected  the 
last  event  of  the  same  kind,  when,  with  his  arm  round 
Flora’s  waist  be  had  made  her  promise  to  reserve  for 
him  all  the  polkas  and  waltzes  for  the  evening  :  but  he 
now  finds  it  necessary  to  exert  all  his  philosophy,  for  in 
answer  to  his  modest  tap  at  the  study  door,  he  is  told  in 
a  rough  but  good-natured  voice  to  “  Come  in !”  and 
there  sat  Mr.  Hunter,  tall,  stout  and  merry  looking, 
though  rather  pompous. 

Magisterial  papers  are  before  him,  and  books,  law 
reports,  and  other  insignia  of  office ;  which,  however, 
are  somewhat  inconsistent  in  their  character  with  the 
other  decorations  of  the  room — paintings  of  dogs, 
racer?  and  hunters,  a  pair  or  two  of  antlers  and  a 
fox’s  brush — a  handsome  rich  Turkey  carpet,  covers 
the  floor,  ’vnd  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire  lie  two 
magnificent  pointers,  muscular  and  bony,  with  eyes 
fulh  of  life  and  sagacity.  On  Charles’  entrance,  one 
of  them  rose  from  his  couch  by  the  fire  and  stood  by 
his  master’s  side,  looking  up  into  his  face,  as  he  ad¬ 
dressed  his  young  visitor:  “Well,  Charles,  my  boy, 
I’m  sorry  I  have  kept  you  so  long ;  devilish  cold,  is’nt 
it  ?  Come/  sit  down,  man  ;  here,  Don,  make  room  for 
your  betters ;  down,  sir,  down.  Port,  down and  the 
good  natured  man  placed  a  chair  for  Charles  close  be- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


Ill 


side  hijij  then  slapping  him  on  the  knee,  said,  “  Well, 
Charles,  and  how  are  you  all  %  I  can’t  say  how  are 
you  all  at  home^  I  wish  I  could ;  for  upon  my  soul, 
I’m  sorry,  very,  very  sorry  indeed ;  but  that  won’t 
mend  matters,  will  it,  my  boy?  Have  some  lunch? 
Oh  yes,  do :  stay  and  dine  with  us ;  you  will,  won’t 
you?’*  But  Charles,  though  pleased  with  his  really 
open  friendly  manner,  shrunk  from  a  repetition  of  the 
cold  and  repulsive  treatment  which  he  had  met  with 
from  the  young  men,  and  steadily  but  gratefully  de¬ 
clined  the  invitation.  ‘‘Well,  now  then,  you’ll  have 
a  glass  of  wine  ?”  and  the  bell  was  rung  before  Charles 
had  time  to  answer.  Wine  and  cake  were  ordered* 
and  then,  after  partaking  slightly  of  this  refreshment, 
Charles  rose  to  take  leave.  Mr.  Hunter  vociferated  a 
request  that  he  would  “  Stay  and  take  a  longer  rest,” 
and  then  said,  “  If  ycfu  want  a  friend,  Charles,  write 
to  me ;  my  cousin,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  the  member,  will 
listen  to  any  suggestions  of  mine,  and  do  anything  for 
me ;  and,  you  know  something  or  other  may — ^you  see 
what  I  mean,  my  dear  fellow,  is  this — I’m  willing^  you 
know,  to  lend  my  aid,  and — Wv.ll,  well,  you  must  write, 
you  must  let  me  hear  from  you.”  Charles,  seeing  that 
he  was  expected  to  put  a  period  to  his  intended  patron’s 
difficulties,  by  saving  him  from  any  further  explana¬ 
tion  of  his  intentions,  shook  hands;  and,  by-the-bye, 
he  did  not  for  some  moments  forget  that  he  had  done 
so,  and  then  left  the  study :  but,  despite  his  now  sad 
lit  of  mauvaise  honte,  he  thought  it  only  proper  to 
wish  “good  morning”  to  the  party  assembled  in  the 
drawing-room.  Flora  was  there,  and  Charles  con¬ 
trived,  in  making  his  parting  adieus,  to  pass  near  hex; 


112 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


and  to  pause  for  a  moment  to  look  for  his  little  walk¬ 
ing-stick  ;  her  eyes  were  quicker  than  his  ;  she  darted 
towards  the  window,  and  taking  it  from  its  corner, 
held  it  towards  him,  saying,  Here  it  is,  Charles  !” 
Of  course  he  drew  nearer  to  receive  it,  and  it  was  but 
natural  that  he  should  whisper  a  word  of  thanks  to  the 
only  one  who  had  shown  any  feeling  of  affectionate 
regard ;  and  Flora  did  not  look  displeased  at  the  “  God 
bless  you.  Flora,  I  shall  not  forget  you,”  which  ac¬ 
companied,  the  farewell,  which  he  uttered  in  a  louder 
tone.  When  Charles  wished.  Miss  Melville  good  morn¬ 
ing,  she  again  presented  her  hand,  and  asked  him  kindly, 
Whether  he  had  a  long  walk  before  him,”  adding,  that 
^  “  at  this  season  walking  exercise  was  always  most  ex¬ 
hilarating.” 

In  consequence  of  this  little  attention  from  on< 
whom  they  aspired  to  rank  among  their  intimate  ac 
paintance,  Percy  and  Edward  came  forward,  and 
walked  to  the  door  with  Charles ;  and,  as  if  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  assumed  a  wonderful  degree  of  interest 
respecting  the  fate  of  his  hat  and  great  coat  which  had 
been  laid  down  in  the  entrance  hall :  but  it  was  an  ef¬ 
fort^  and  worth  nothing  in  the  eyes  of  thfeir  former 
friend,  or  in  those  of  the  “  Honorable,”  whose  good  graces 
they  thus  sought  to  propitiate,  for  on  their  return  to  the 
drawing-room  they  heard  Miss  Melville  saying  to  Mrs. 
Hunter,  What  a  particularly  gentlemanly  nice  lad 
that  young  Sinclair  is,  poor  fellow !  I  dare  say  he  feels 
his  poor  father’s  misfortunes,  for  he  seems  sad  and  out 
of  spirits ;  and  he  looked  so  lopely  when  I  arrived  that 
I  was  quite  glad  to  see  him  cheered  and  amused  by 
watching  these  followers  of  mine,”  and  she  playfully 


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lajped  Kover  on  the  head  with  her  hand.  I  suppose 
he  does  not  skate^  or  I  conclude  he  would  not  have ‘been 
left  by  himself !” 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  Percy,  who  struggled 
in  vain  to  repress  the  rising  blush  which  Miss  Melville’s 
earnest  look  and  manner  produced  ;  he  found  it  impos¬ 
sible  to  frame  any  answer  to  the  remark,  and  not  daring 
to  resort  to  his  usual  plan  of  evading  any  unpleasant¬ 
ness  by  addressing  his  attentions  to  “  Tackle,”  he  felt 
quite  at  a  loss  how  to  conceal  his  discomfort.  Without 
appearing,  however,  to  notice  this.  Miss  Melville  again 
addressed  Mrs.  Hunter,  and  enlarged  considerably  upon- 
the  distress  she  had  felt  at  hearing  of  the  unfortunate 
losses  of  Mr.  Sinclair,  “  A  man’  she  said,  “  really  of  taste 
and  refinement,  and,  as  I  am  told,  of.  most  respectable 
connections  and  family ;  it  is  quite  grievous  to  see  them 
'  in  so  painful  a  situation ;  but,  doubtless,  they  will  in 
some  way  be  extricated  from  their  difficulties,  for  they 
are,  I  am  sure,  people  of  a  very  superior  grade  of  intel¬ 
lect  and  acquirement,  I  do  not  know  where  they  are, 
but  I  am  told  they  are  in  a  state  of  real  distress.” 

Mrs.  Hunter,  who,  though  kind  in  feeling,  possessed 
much  of  the  petty  pride  of  the  family,  felt  really  quite 
glad  that  Miss  Melville  was  acquainted  with  the  diffi¬ 
culties  in  which  the  Sinclairs  were  involved,  as  it  re¬ 
moved  from  her  mind  the  fear  which  she  had  begun  to 
entertain,  that  she  could  not  know  all  the  facts  connect¬ 
ed  with  their  reduced  circumstances ;  or  surely  a  per¬ 
son  of  her  consequence  would  not  have  been  so  kindly 
familiar  in  her  manner  as  she  had  been  towards 
Charles :  and  as  she  herself  had  alluded  to  the  story, 
Mrs.  Hunter  now  fully  enlarged  upon  it,  and  assumed 


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a  most  kind  interest  in  the  fate  of  the  family.  But 
Miss  Melville  had  already  seen  quite  enough  of  the  up¬ 
start  pretensions  of  the  young  men,  to  be  in  tho  least 
degree  blinded  as  to  the  real  state  of  their  feelings  ; 
and  it  was  with  a  sensation  of  relief  to  a’l  the  party 
that  they  heard  her  ask  permission  to  order  her  carriage. 

We  must  now  follow  Charles :  when  the  sound  of 
the  closing  of  the  hall  door  reached  his  ears,  he  felt  an 
inward  exultation  at  having  escaped  from  the  icy  bar¬ 
rier  by  which  he  had  been  surrounded  for  the  last  two 
hours,  and  he  stopped  to  look  around  him  and  to  try  to 
recover  a  little  from  the  effects  of  the  freezing  which  he 
had  been  enduring:  how  well  he  remembered  each 
object  that  met  his  eye  ;  that  shrubbery  walk,  wind¬ 
ing  along  behind  the  house,  with  its  pleasant  shade  of 
evergreens,  and  sweet-scented  flowering  shrubs,  now 
bending  beneath  the  weight  of  the  light  snow  which 
beautifully  compensated  for  their  absent  flowers,  where 
he  with  Flora  and  Spencer,  in  earlier  days  of  childhood 
so  often  had  passed  hours  and  hours  of  mirthful  happi¬ 
ness  and  enjoyment.  And  now,  “old  Neptune”  sees 
him,  and  springs  from  his  kennel  which  is  ensconced 
behind  the  portico,  and  recognizing  Charles,  bestows  a 
sleepy,  yawning  sort  of  a  welcome,  for  he  has  been 
taking  a  nap,  and  greatly  enjoying  the  warm  sunny  cor¬ 
ner  in  which  his  house  has  been  placed.  Charles  stoop¬ 
ed  to  caress  him,  and  felt  quite  happy  at  being  so  well 
remembered  by  him ;  but  he  will  not  stop  longer  lest 
the  boys  should  come  out,  so  with  a  “good  bye,  Nep” 
he  ran  off  at  speed  down  the  gravel  path,  and  pursued 
his  way  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  already  the  bright 
rays  of  the  winter  sun  were  departing,  and  he  had  a 


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115 


long  walk  before  him  ;  his  spirits,  which  in  the  morning 
had  so  wonderfully  sustained  him,  so  that  the  walk 
seemed  nothing,  had  now  sadly  forsaken  him,  and  he 
began  to  tire  ere  he  reached  the  end  of  the  first  mile. 
However,  he  trudged  on,  meditating  as  he  walked,  on 
the  causes  rf  his  late  cool  reception  at  Fairburn.  Could 
they  really  be  so  mean,  so  utterly  worldly,  as  to  treat 
him  differently,  merely  because  his  situation  in  life  was 
changed  by  misfortune  “  not  by  disgrace,”  thought 
Charles.  “  iVb,  not  by  disgrace,  thank  God;*  and  I 
cannot  believe  any  people  would  be  so  despicable,  no,  I 
must  have  offended  them,  or  perhaps  they  fancy  that  I 
have  liked  little  Flo  too  much ;  well,  she  was  kind  as 
ever,  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  I  alwarys  thought  well  of 
her.” 

In  this  way  “  chewing  the  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter 
fancies,”  Charles  pursued  his  way,  resolving  as  he  went 
not  to  wound  his  father’s  feelings  by  betraying  how  bit¬ 
ter  had  been  his  vexation  at  the  unkind  treatment  he 
had  experienced.  A  wintry  evening  was  now  closing 
in,  and  in  another  half-hour  it  would  be  really  dark  ; 
enow  too  began  to  fall  in  thick  flakes  around  him,  and 
he  was  right  glad  to  hold  up  his  finger  and  make  signals 
of  distress  to  the  first  public  conveyance-director  that 
came  in  sight :  creeping  in  at  the  door  of  the  omnibus, 
he  stumbled  in  the  dark  upon  a  gentleman’s  toe,  and 
then  nearly  falling  into  his  arms  he  rather  awkwardly  # 
seated  himself  by  his  side  and  attempted  an  apology, 
but  was  checked  a  little  by  hearing  a  voice  say,  “  Take, 
take  care,  young  gentleman,  you  should  be  careful.” 
But  when  the  light  again  streamed  into  the  carriage  he 
fiaw  that  this  elderly  gentleman  looked  kindly  at  him, 


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and  moreover,  that  he  had  no  other  companion.  After 
a  moment  of  silence,  Charles  ventured  to  speak  to  him. 

A  cold  evening,  sir.’* 

“  Very,  very  indeed  :  have  you  walked  far  to-day, 

hey 

“  Yes,  I  have  been  to  Fairburn.” 

Oh,  oh,  Fairburn,  a  set  of  parvenues  those  Hunters, 
I  should  think  so ;  1  should  think  so,  h<.y  and  he 
leant  a  little  towards  Charles. 

But  no  assenting  word  or  glance  did  Charles  think 
it  right  to  give  :  so  he  only  said  it  was  “  a  nice  place, 
and  when  he  lived  near  them  they  had  been  very  kind 
to  him.” 

This  evidently  pleased  the  old  gentleman,  and  he 
smiled — yes,  smiled  encouragingly — while  he  said,  “  I 
thought  I  was  right.” 

Silent  again  for  a  moment  Charles  tried  to  recollect 
who  his  companion  was  :  and  then  thought,  “  Oh,  yes,  I 
remember,  his  name  is  Crosby.  I  recollect  he  used  to 
follow  nurse  sometimes,  when  she  walked  out  with  poor 
little  Henry.”  But  as  this  was  all  he  knew  of  his 
neighbor,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  manner, 
when  he  again  addressed  him  saying,  “  Sinclair,  I  think, 
hey  ?  Charles  Sinclair,  hey  ?  ah,  I  thought  so,  I  re¬ 
member,  a  little  one,  too,  there  was  once,  with  dark  curl¬ 
ing  hair — oh  yes,  I  remember  !” 

But  this  allusion  to  his  little  brother  affected  poor 
Charles,  and  he  attempted  no  reply. 

‘‘  Oh,  well,  I  see,  I  was  wrong  to  mention  him,  but 
you  must  forgive  me,  young  sir,  for,”  and  with  a  voice 
tremulous  from  emotion  he  added,  “  I  loved  that  little 
child,  and  felt  his  loss  when  God  removed  the  only  crea- 


tioMElsttOMl:.  lit 

ture  that  ever  had  for  many  years  excited  in  my  heai^^ 
one  feeling  of  tenderness  or  affection,  for  he  was — ’’ 

But  at  this  moment  Charles’  strange  companion 
roused  himself,  and  with  a  hasty  announcement  that 
such  feelings  were  absurd  ”  and  ridiculous,”  he 
resumed,  as  much  as  he  could,  of  his  usual  manner^ 
and  for  the  remainder  of  the  short  journey,  scarcely 
spoke,  except  that  once  or  twice  Charles  heard  him 
mutter  the  Words,  Old  blockhead,”  by  which  Charles 
supposed  he  was  not  on  the  happiest  terms  with  him^ 
self 

When  the  carriage  stopped  for  Charles  to  descendj 
Mr.  Crosby  held  out  his  hand,  and  said,  “  You  think 
me  an  old  fool,  I  dare  say,  eh  7  oh  well — and  so  I  am, 
yes  !”  But  Charles  only  remembered  the  love  he  had 
so  involuntarily  expressed  for  his  little  brother,  and 
warmly  pressed  the  hand  which  Mr.  Crosby  offered, 
who  said,  as  the  door  closed,  “  Ah  !  if  all  boys  were 
like  yow.” 

What,  in  such  a  case,  would  have  been  Mr.  Crosby’s 
opinion  of  them  was  lost  to  posterity,  for  the  door 
closed  with  a  bang,  and  the  guard  vociferating  “  all 
right,”  the  carriage  rattled  off,  and  left  Charles  to  find 
his  way  on  foot  through  the  street  which  led  to  Mr. 
Eveleigh’s  house,  determining,  as  he  went,  to  give  as 
cheering  an  account  of  his  day’s  adventures  as  if  no 
annoyance  had  disturbed  his  pleasure  ;  for,  in  common 
with  all  this  amiable  family,  his  first  object  was  to  add 
as  much  as  possible  to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of 
his  parents,  and  in  no  case  to  give  them  unnecessary 
pain  or  anxiety. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Kate’s  letter,  which  she  had  directed  to  Miss  IIarto|>, 
at  Mr.  Wilde’s,  Glasgow,  did  not  reach  its  destina* 
tion  for  some  days,  as  Miss  Hartop  had  rather  suddenly 
come  to  the  resolution  of  venturing  to  withdraw  herself 
from  all  the  advantages  of  her  situation  in  that  family, 
where  she  had  been  expected  to  instruct  all  the  six 
children,  and  not  to  expect  any  sort  of  leisure  or  re¬ 
creation.  This  was  too  much,  even  for  the  quiet 
patience  of  the  good  Miss  Hartop,  and  she  was  there* 
fore,  at  the  time  Kate’s  letter  was  forwarded  to  her, 
quietly  waiting  at  her  nice  snug  lodgings,  in  Surrey, 
for  the  arrival  of  answers  to  sundry  applications  which 
she  had  made  to  seteral  families,  in  the  hope  of  obtain¬ 
ing  a  more  comfortable  situation.  The  little  white 
cottage  which  ghe  denominated  her  home,”  and  to 
which  she  always  resorted  vrhen  fortune  frowned  upon 
her  honest  industry,”  was  situated  close  by  the  pretty 
village  church  of  Greysbrook ;  and  waS  shut  out  from 
the  road  by  a  white  paling.  The  rooms  which  she 
occupied  had  been  fitted  up  with  the  old  furniture, 
which  came  from  the  vicarage  ;  for  she  was  the  only 
daughter  of  tlie  late  inctimb'ent,  who  had  died  there 
about  twenty  years  before,  and  had  left  this  child  an 
orphan  and  unprovided  for,  so  that  at  five-and-twenty, 


H  0  M  1?  is  ii  0  M  iJ . 


119 

poor  Miss  Hartop  had  been  under  the  necessity  of 
seeking  her  daily  bread  from  the  hands  of  strangers. 
And  it  was  indeed  a  happy  day  for  her  when  Mrs. 
Sinclair  engaged  her  services  in  the  care  of  her  sweet 
children.  For  eight  years  Miss  Hartop  was  freed  from 
all  care  and  anxiety,  and  found  in  Mrs.  Sinclair  a  real 
and  estimable  friend. 

As  Kate  grew  up,  and  by  her  sw^eetness  and  excel¬ 
lence  of  disposition  gave  evidence  of  the  right  princi¬ 
ples  in  which  she  had  been  educated,  the  feelings  of 
her  parents  were  more  than  ever  drawn  towards  her 
kind  instructress,  and  Miss  Hartop  was  considered  in 
the  light  of  an  esteemed  friend,  by  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sinclair :  and,  during  the  last  year  of  her  residence 
with  them,  she  had  been  entirely  admitted  to  their 
confidence  and  companionship.  It  was,  therefore,  a  sad 
change,  when  it  was  decided  that  her  services  must  of 
necessity  be  dispensed  with,  and  that,  consequently, 
she  was  again  obliged  to  seek  the  protection  of  stran¬ 
gers.  It  was  on  a  fine,  clear,  frosty  day,  the  very  day 
on  which  Charles  visited  Fairburn,  that  Miss  Hartop 
was  just  finishing  her  simple  toilette,  in  preparation 
for  the  breakfast-hour,  and  had  been  wondering  what 
time  it  was,  and  whether  the  post-man  was  arrived  in 
the  village,  when  a  sudden  knock  at  the  small  front  door 
induced  her  to  peep  down  into  the  little  passage  below, 
to  see  who  Would  present  himself,  when  Sally  opened 
the  door  ;  and— ^  yes,  there  is  the  post-man,  and  there 
are  three  or  four  letters;”  and  Miss  Hartop  finishes 
the  adjusting  of  the  little  brooch  witli  Kate^s  hair  in  it, 
as  she  descends  the  stair-case,  for  she  is  more  than 
usually  in  haste  to  possess  the  treasures  which  the 


post-man  has  just  left,  her  dress  was,  however,  neat  to 
perfection,  for  this  was  so  much  her  constant  habit,  that 
QO  haste  ever  induced  her,  even  when  quite  alone,  to 
neglect  this  distinguishing  mark  of  a  lady :  her  pretty 
dark  merino  dress,  so  closely  fitting,  and  so  nicely 
finished  with  its  pretty  little  collar  of  fine  work,  fastened 
with  the  already-mentioned  brooch,  and  her  small  pret* 
tily  arranged  cap,  made  Miss  Hartop,  at  forty,  really 
good-looking.  Her  step  was  still  light,  and  her  move¬ 
ments  even  graceful :  altogether,  no  one  could  mistake 
her  for  other  than  a  gentlewoman.  She  entered  her 
nice  little  sitting-room,  where  her  solitary  breakfast 
was  already  prepared,  and  seizing  her  letters,  seated 
herself  close  by  the  fire  ;  and,  as  all  ladies  do,  she  ex¬ 
amined  all  the  seals,  post-marks,  and  other  character¬ 
istics,  in  the  hope  of  finding,  without  the  trouble  of 
opening  them,  who  were  'their  authors.  But  no  sign 
enlightened  her,  except  that  upon  a  close  inspection 
she  decided  that  “  that  was  from  dear  Kate,”  but  that 
she  feared  she  was  ill,  for  the  hand  was  so  unlike  her 
usual  style  of  writing ;  and  then,  it  bore  a  strange 
post-mark.  However,  on  opening  it,  she  exclaimed, 
‘‘  Yes,  it  is  indeed  from  Kate  Sinclair  ;  but  what  can 
have  happened  ?”  and  in  silence  and  'vVith  many  tears, 
she  read  the  long  account  of  their  recent  misfortunes, 
and,  of  Kate’s  determination,  to  assist,  if  possible,  in 
extricating  her  family  from  their  difficulties:  and 
when  she  read  that  part  of  the  letter  which  asked  her 
for  assistance  and  direction  in  Seeking  some  situation 
which  would  be  suited  to  her  inexperience,  poor  Miss 
Hartop  was  quite  overpowered,  and  mentally  promised 
to  use  her  best  exertions  to  promote  such  a  noble  en- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


121 


terprise  ;  the  letter  was  closed  at  last,  and  long  and 
sadly  did  the  kind  governess  meditate  upon  the  fallen 
fortunes  of  the  beloved  family  who  had  been  so  good? 
so  kind  to  her  in  her  younger  days.  The  breakfast 
still  remained  untouched,  till  Sally,  the  little  maid,  who 
acted  as  temporary  servant  of  all  work,  opened  the 
door,  and  asked,  “  should  she  take  away  the  things  ? 
but  law,  ma’am,  you  look  quite  pale  and  ill,  and  you’ve 
eaten  nothing,  and  no  tea  made,  can  I  do  anything  for 
you,  ma’am?” 

No,  thank  you,  Sally,  not  just  now,  I  will  ring  for 
you  in  a  few  moments.” 

Miss  Hartop  approached  the  table,  and  commenced 
a  pretended  attack  upon  the  bread  and  butter,  made  a 
little  tea  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  then  looking  round 
she  saw  the  other  three  letters  which  had  excited  her 
curiosity,  but  had  been  forgotten  in  the  sorrow  which 
Kate’s  communication  had  occasioned.  As  she  sipped 
her  tea,  she  opened  and  read  them.  The  first  was  from 
a  merchant’s  lady  in  the  city ;  stating  that  she  had  five 
little  girls  who  would  require  the  constant  care  and 
attention  of  a  residing  governess,”  who  would  also  be 
expected  to  hear  a  little  boy  of  seyen  all  his  lessons  in 
Latin,  and  give  him  othjer  instruction  if  required,  but 
that  possibly  he  would  soon  be  sent  to  school ;  the 
governess  must  not  expect  the  assistance  of  masters, 
and  would  not  be  allowed  to  leave  the  children  alone 
at  any  time,  but  might  have  a  fire  in  the  school-room 
when  they  were  all  gone  to  bed.  Miss  Hartop  sighed, 
as  she  contemplated  the  arduous  task  thus  proposed, 
and  hoped  better  things  might  yet  await  her^  and  she 
open<dd  the  second  letter.  This  proved  to  be  from  the 

6 


122 


HOME  IS  H  O  31  £  . 


lady  of  a  medical  man  in  London,  who  “  I>egged  to 
inform  Miss  Hartop  that  her  children  were  all  young, 
and  would  not  require  the  whole  of  her  time,  and  that 
therefore  she  would  be  expected  to  make  herself  useful 
in  other  employments  as  they  might  arise  ;  but  that 
£80  per  annum  were  terms  much  too  high,  and  pro¬ 
posing  £60  per  annum  instead.'^ 

Again  Miss  Hartop  sighed,  no  that  would  never  da, 
ehe  must  refuse  that  at  once.  These  letters  had  been 
opened  without  any  consideration,  for  her  mind  was 
still  full  of  the  sorrows  and  difficulties  of  her  friends ; 
and  some  little  time  elapsed  before  she  examined  tho 
last  of  the  letters  which  that  morning’s  most  eventful 
post  had  brought  her ;  in  this  she  found  a  most  kind 
and  lady-like  proposal,  from  Lady  Beauchamp,  which 
was  in  every  respect  exactly  such  as  would  best  suit 
Miss  Hartop ;  and  her  now  deepening  color  and 
speaking  eyes  evinced  the  real  pleasure  and  satisfaction 
which  filled  her  mind,  as  she  read  the  kind  and  friendly 
terms  in  which  this  offer  was  conveyed. 

Lady  Beauchamp  had  two  little  girls  of  the  respec¬ 
tive  ages  of  eight  and  ten,  who  would  require  Miss 
Hartop’s  attention  for  some  hours  each  day,  but  whose  kind 
and  most  respectable  nurse  would  take  charge  of  them 
when  the  hours  for  study  w'ere  ended  ;  “  there  is,”  Lady 
Beauchamp  continued,  “  a  little  helpless  girl  for  whom 
I  may  occasionally  petition  a  little  portion  of  your  time ; 
but  it  would  be  chiefly  in  the  way  of  soothing  and  amus¬ 
ing  her  weary  hours.” 

This  letter  concluded  with  a  request  that  Miss 
Hartop  would  come  to  Granby  Hall  as  snon  as  she  could 
with  perfect  convenience  to  herself.  Once  more,  thea, 


H0M£  is  home. 


123 


she  might  hope  for  a  comfortable  home,  and  find  in  those 
she  served  minds  congenial  with  her  own ;  and  she  had 
long  known  Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp,  and  Lad  often 
heard  of  the  amiable  character  of  the  lady  whom  he 
had  married. 

For  some  moments  she  had  paced  her  little  room 
with  feelings  of  happiness  to  which  she  had  long  been  a 
stranger.  She  began,  too,  to  consider  the  terms  in  which 
she  should  express  to  Lady  Beauchamp  the  readiness 
with  which  she  accepted  the  charge  thus  kindly  offered 
to  her,  when  suddenly  the  recollection  of  poor  Kate  at 
once  changed  the  current  of  her  thoughts,  and  she 
almost  blamed  the  selfish  feeling  which  had  thus,  for  a 
time,  banished  from  her  mind  the  sorrows  and  troubles 
of  those  she  so  truly  loved,  and  turning  to  her  writing 
table  she  determined  first  to  write  to  Kate,  and  seek 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  and  again  she  opened  the  let 
ter  which  had  brought  to  her  the  sad  intelligence  of  iiei 
misfortunes ;  but  in  another  moment  she  paused,  and  a 
bright  smile  illumined  every  feature,  while  she  mentally 
resolved  that  for  Kate  she  would  endeavor  to  procure 
the  home  which  but  a  moment  before  she  had  so  thank 
fully  accepted  for  herself.  “  Yes,  it  must  be  so,  and 
dear  Kate  need  never  know  it  was  offered  to  me.  I  am 
now  so  inured  to  difficulties  that  I  can  reconcile  myself 
to  almost  any  path  of  duty,  while  she,  poor  girl,  is  now 
for  the  first  time  exposed  to  all  the  cold  and  unkind 
neglects  which  too  often  await  the  poor  and  humbla 
governess  ;  in  Lady  Beauchamp  she  will  find  a  kind 
friend,  I  have  no  doubt,  and  I  shall  have  the  blessing 
of  feeling  that  I  liave  been  able,  in  some  measure,  to 
alleviate  her  first  ii. trod  action  to  a  life  of  unceasing  re- 


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sponsibilitj  and  fatigue.”  Thus  meditated  tLe  kind 
governess ;  she  chought  not  of  the  difficulties  which  this 
decision  must  of  necessity  entail  upon  herself,  but  put 
far  away  from  her  every  consideration  save  that  of  being 
instrumental  to  the  corifort  and  benefit  of  those  to 
whom  she  felt  so  sincerely  attached.  Without  a  mo¬ 
ment’s  hesitation  she  wrote  to  Lady  Beauchamp,  and 
told  her  with  all  gratitude  for  her  intended  kindness, 
that  she  had  other  views  for  her  own  future .  course, 
but  that  she  could -most  conscientiously  recommend  her 
friend  and  former  pupil,  Miss  Sinclair,  whose  family 
had,  from  sad  and  unfortunate  events,  sunk  into  a  state 
of  undeserved  distress.  She  then  told  Lady  Bea  a- 
champ  as  much  of  her  friend’s  circumstances  as  she 
thought  would  be  correct  and  prudent,  and  expressed 
her  high  opinion  of  Kate’s  mind  and  principle,  and 
endod  by  asking  for  a  speedy  answer  to  her  request ; 
when  this  letter  was  sealed  and  despatched  Miss  Hartop 
sat  before  her  scanty  fire  in  her  little  lonely  room,  and 
feRi  that  inward  sense  of  happiness  which  a  kind  and 
generous  action  never  fails  to  bring  as  its  reward  :  yet 
in  her  guileless  simplicity  she  thought  not  of  it  as  a 
meritorious  sacrifice,  for  she  was  only  too  thankful  that 
such  an  opportunity  of  proving  her  grateful  affection  to 
her  former  patrons  had  thus  so  fortunately  presented 
itself ;  and  she  felt  that  if  she  could  succeed  in  smooth¬ 
ing  for  poor  Kate  the  thorny  path  which  she  seemed 
destined  to  pursue,  she  should  be  more  than  recompensed. 
She  then  determined  not  to  write  to  Kate  till  she  had 
received  from  Lady  Beauchamp  an  answer  to  this 
application. 

TKelong  :old  day  passed  wearily  on,  for  time  never 


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appears  so  tardy  in  its  flight  as  while  we  are  waiting  for 
the  completion  of  any  object  which  we  have  in  view ; 
and  as  a  means  of  dissipating  her  own  anxious  thoughts, 
Miss  Hartop  resolved  to  go  and  visit  some  of  her  poor 
and  sick  neighbors,  from  whom  she  always  derived  les¬ 
sons  of  patience  and  submission,  which  she  never  failed 
to  improve  to  her  own  advantage.  Taking,  therefore, 
her  basket  with  a  supply  of  such  things  as  she  thought 
might  be  of  most  use  to  the  poor  people  she  intended 
visiting,  and  clothing  herself  so  as  to  defy  the  cold  even 
of  that  severe  weather,  she  set  forth  on  her  charitable 
errand.  The  ground  was  hard  and  white,  for  there  had 
been  a  heavy  Ml  of  snow,  and  the  road'  in  some  parts 
was  very  slippery,  so  that  she  had  to  choose  her  path 
with  caution.  At  length  she  reached  the  place  of  her 
destination;  this  was  the  village  almshouse,  to  whh h 
place  Miss  Hartop  paid  a  visit  very  frequently  when 
she  was  staying  in  her  native  village,  for  here  she  ever 
met  a  kind  and  grateful  reception  from  such  of  her 
father’s  ol^  parishioners  as  still  lingered  under  its  time¬ 
worn  roof  A  long,  low  building,  forming  three  sides  of 
a  quadrangle  and  enclosed  in  a  little  court-yard,  had  for 
many  generations  formed  the  last  earthly  residence  of 
the  very  poorest  of  the  inhabitants  of  Greysbrook.  The 
court-yard  was  considered  as  their  garden  by  the  poor 
almshouse  people,  and  as  the  area  which  formed  its 
centre  was  divided  into  equal  allotments  to  be  cultivat¬ 
ed  as  might  best  please  the  owner  of  each,  it  was  in 
summer  bright  with  beautiful  flowers,  and  roses  and 
mignionette  filled  the  air  with  their  fragrant  scents.  A 
paved  footway  ran  all  round  the  court  close  to  the 
houses,  each  of  which  was  approached  by  two  old  and 


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well-TVorn  stone  steps,  now  slippery  and  scarcely  afford¬ 
ing  safe  footing  to  the  approaching  visitor ;  a  low  wall 
with  a  small  gate  in  the  centre  separated  the  garden- 
court  from  tne  road  which  passed  in  front  of  the  alms¬ 
house,  and  which,  with  its  high,  well-beaten  causeway, 
formed  the  street  of  the  straggling  village  to  which  it 
belonged. 

Miss  Hartop  entered  the  little  gate,  and  closing  it 
carefully  passed  on  along  the  little  paved  way  we  have 
described,  till  reaching  a  house  which  formed  the  very 
centre  of  the  front  of  the  building  she  cautiously  as¬ 
cended  the  slippery  steps,  and  turning  the  heavy  iron 
ring,  which  raised  a  latch,  she  admitted  herself  to  a  sort 
of  roughly-pebbled  entry,  and,  turning  to  the  right,  ano¬ 
ther  heavy  latch  was  raised  and  another  door  somewhat 
siinilar  to  the  outer  one,  but  much  lower  and  smaller, 
disclosed  the  rather  large  but  low  and  ill-lighted  room 
which  formed  the  principal  apartment  of  its  inmates : 
two  steps  led  down  into  this  strange-looking,  old- 
fashioned  dwelling-place,  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  which 
were  dark  with  the  smoke  which  at  times  poured  forth 
from  the  wide  old  fire-place.  Here,  sitting  on  a  low 
chair  close  to  a  wood  fire,  which  at  the  time  of  her  en¬ 
trance  was  much  requiring  replenishing.  Miss  Hartop 
found  her  favorite  old  woman,  Nanny,  the  queen,’*  as 
the  other  old  people  in  joke  sometimes  called  her.  She 
was  dozing  in  her  high-backed  chair,  and  it  was  not  till 
her  visitor  had  quietly  stood  some  moments  by  her  side 
that  she  awoke.  Her  high  clear  cap  was  put  on  with 
the  greatest  care,  and  her  neat,  blue  cloth  gown,  the 
badge  of  the  almshouse,  was  surmounted  by  a  snow 
white  neckerchief  and  apron  :  her  arms  were  covered 


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127 


with  long  black  worsted  mittens  reaching  to  the  elbows, 
and  her  black  shoes  with  rather  higher  heels  than 
might  be  deemed  fashionable,  were  fastened  with  old 
silver  clasps,  the  pride  of  poor  Nanny’s  heart,  for  they 
had  belonged  to  her  father:  her  head  was  thrown  back, 
and  the  pale,  calm  features  of  the  fine  old  woman  were 
in  a  state  of  perfect  repose,  while  a  beautiful  tortoise¬ 
shell  cat  of  unusual  size  was  also  indulging  in  a  quiet 
nap  by  her  side.  A  slight  movement,  caused  by  Miss 
Ilartop,  roused  old  Nanny  from  her  slumber,  and  .sitting 
upright  with  a  half  awakened  air  she  rested  her  hands 
upon  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  looked  slowly  round, 
but  on  seeing  her  well-known  and  kind  friend  standing 
by  her  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  and  said, 
‘‘My  dear  good  lady,  is  it  you  ?  why  I  was  a  dreaming  I 
believe,  for  I  felt  quite  frightened  for  a  moment  like 
but  dear  me,  miss,  you  must  be  cold,  and  my  fire  is  ab 
most  out  too.”  Slowly  rising  from  her  seat,  Nanny 
placed  some  wood  on  the  fire  while  her  visitor  ensconsed 
herself  cosily  in  the  capacious  chimney-corner,  and 
placed  her  cold  feet  on  the  bright  brass  fire-dogs  which 
supported  the  billets  of  wood,  took  oif  seme  of  her  warm 
furs,  produced  her  baskets,  from  which  she  took  some* 
little  parcels,  which  contained  tea  and  sugar,  and  a  nice 
warm  flannel  waistcoat  to  keep  her  old  friend  warm  in 
the  better  frosty  nights,  and  told  her  that  she  had  just 
“  finished  it  in  time,  for  that  the  cold  was  intense  and 
seemed  likely  to  continue  so,”  and  old  Nanny  was  elo¬ 
quent  in  her  expressions  of  gratitude  and  thanks  to  her 
kind  visitor. 

“  Oh,  miss,”  she  said,  “  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  once  mciro  amongst  us  all ; 


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your  goodness  to  us  reminds  us  all  of  happier  times, 
when  your  dear  and  excellent  father  was  with  us  and 
used  to  visit  us  and  comfort  us  in  all  our  troubles  and 
afflictions ;  and  oh,  miss,  when  I  first  returned  to  my 
parish  after  I  had  been  abroad,  you  know  that  time — 
well,  miss,  it  was  a  season  of  sadness,  and  I  hope  of 
penitence,  and  your  dear  father  kindly  ^nd  gently  led 
me  to  the  only  source  from  which  we  can  find  consola¬ 
tion  in  all  our  troubles  ;  yes,  miss,  he  read  the  Scrip¬ 
tures  to  me  daily,  and  when  my  health  was  restored  he 
told  me  never  to  let  go  the  hold  which  he  hoped  I  had 
made  upon  the  blessed  Gospel  truths,  and  to  seek  fresh 
strength  to  walk  thenceforward  in  the  path  of  duty ; 
but  oh,  my  dear  young  lady  !  I  am  a  poor,  frail  creature 
and  my  heart  is  still  burthened  with  the  remembrance 
of  my  past  sins.” 

Miss  Hartop  listened  with  much  interest,  but  know¬ 
ing  that  the  old  woman  was  really  a  sincere  Christian, 
she  talked  to  her  encouragingly,  and  pointed  out  the 
only  way  by  which  the  sins  of  all  can  be  healed,  telling 
her  that  forgiveness  was  promised  to  all  who  really 
repented  their  past  offences,  and  then  feeling  from  the 
energy  and  earnestness  with  which  her  old  friend  spoke 
that  some  particular  sin  or  fault  still  filled  her  soul 
with  heaviness,  and  that  a  free  confession  even  to  a 
fellow-creature  is  always  salutary  and  hopeful,  she 
gently  approached  the  subject  of  her  earlier  years, 
thinking  she  could  induce  old  Nanny  to  explain  the 
cause  of  her  hidden  sorrow.  “  I  remember  once,”  she 
said  “  you  promised  me,  Nanny,  to  tell  me  some  par¬ 
ticulars  of  the  time  you  passed  in  foreign  countries, 
and,  if  you  are  not  feeling  more  weak  than  usual,  I  wish 


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129 


you  would  do  so  now^  for  I  came  on  purpose  to  sit  an 
hour  with  you  ; — come,  put  on  your  tea-kettle,  Nanny, 
and  blow  up  your  fire  into  a  blaze,  and  then  while  1 
enjoy  a  comfortable  warming  of  my  cold  hands,  you  can 
tell  me  some  parts  of  your  early  history.” 

“  Ah,  miss,  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  talk  much 
upon  that  sad  time,  but  I  don’t  know  how  it  is  I  feel 
such  a  comfort  in  talking  to  you  that  I  will  e’en  try  tfi 
tell  you  my  tale,  though  it  will  cost  me  much  pain  and 
shame  I  know.”  Old  Nanny  rose,  and  filling  her  tea^ 
kettle  set  it  on  'the  fire,  which  now  sent  up  a  fitful  blaze^ 
and  threw  a  light  into  the  far-off  corner  of  that  dark 
room,  then  with  a  sigh  and  evident  struggle  against 
her  secret  sorrow,  which  rendered  her  thin  features 
more  than  usually  pale,  she  pressed  her  hands  closely 
together  on  her  knees,  and  began  to  relate  her  little 
history. 

“  You  see,  miss,  I  was  not  always  what  I  now  ap¬ 
pear,  for  I  was  the  only  child  of  a  respectable  farmer 
who  lived  in  this  parish,  and  when  I  was  a  very  little 
child  I  was  sent  to  school  and  brought  up  with  de¬ 
cency  and  respectability  till  I  was  about  nineteen.  I 
was  then  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  fine  young  man, 
the  son  of  a  neighbor,  a  farmer,  as  my  father  was,  but 
much  richer  and  in  many  ways  better  off,  and  it  was 
thought,  you  see,  miss,  that  my  lover  would  inherit  a 
very  fair  fortune  whenever  the  old  gentleman  died  ; 
but  from  the  first  he  seemed  to  think  that  unless  father 
would  be  able  to  give  me  some  money,  too,  there  would 
be  difficulties  put  in  our  way.  Well,  miss,  after  we 
had  been  engaged  about  two  years  my  dear  father 
died,  and  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  left  me  wholly 

6^ 


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witLout  any  means  of  subsistence ;  for  you  see,  miss, 
he  had  been  a  speculator,  and  though  I  had  no  suspi¬ 
cion  of  such  a  thing,  he  was  insolvent  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  Well,  ma’am,  though  I  believe  James  would 
gladly  have  fulfilled  his  promises  his  father  would 
never  hear  of  it,  and  I  was  young  and  proud  then,  and 
so  we  quarrelled  and  parted  never  to  meet  again  in 
this  world,  for  James  went  away  to  sea,  and  was  soon 
after  lost  in  a  dreadful  storm  off  the  coast  of  Spain  , 
and  I,  ah  yes  I  I  did  mourn  for  him,  miss,  as  though 
he  had  been  my  own  husband,  and  for  a  long  while  I 
was  very  poorly  in  body  and  mind.  At  this  time  I  was 
living  with  my  grandmother,  who  took  care  of  me  and 
tended  me  with  a  mother’s  love,  but  soon  afterwards 
she  died,  and  I  felt  that  my  only  way  of  getting  my 
living  would  be  to  go  into  service  in  a  gentleman’s 
family.  Your  father  knew  me,  and  gave  me  recom¬ 
mendations,  and  at  last  I  obtained  a  situation  in  which 
as  nursemaid  I  lived  for  many  years  with  credit  and  in 
comfort.  I  was  four-and-twenty  when  I  first  entered 
that  house,  miss,  and  I  never  changed  my  home  for 
nearly  fourteen  years  ;  but  as  the  children  were  then 
grown  up,  my  mistress  procured  me  an  excellent  place 
as  head-servant  in  the  house  of  a  gentleman  who  had 
lately  returned  from  the  West  Indies,  and  had  brought 
home  a  young  wife  who  was,  I  believe,  a  Portuguese 
lady  ;  however  she  was  a  foreigner,  and  spoke  English 
but  indifferently.  She  was  very  pretty  and  had  a  sweet 
expression  in  her  soft  dark  eye,  and  her  long  black 
hair  hung  in  bright  and  beautiful  curls  down  each  side 
of  her  oval  face,  which  was  rather  darker  than  our  Eng¬ 
lish  ladies.  My  master  was  many  years  older  than 


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131 


©lie  was,  but  he  was  doatingly  fond  of  her,  and  always 
very  tender  and  gentle  towards  her,  seeming  more  like 
a  father  in  his  manner  to  my  thought,  but  that  was  his 
tender  way.  W ell,  miss,  when  first  I  went  to  live  with 
them  there  was  no  child,  and  I  think  master  coveted 
one  more  than  any  earthly  good  or  comfort,  but  my 
mistress  was  not  in  good  health,  and  we  all  thought  she 
would  not  long  be  amongst  us.  About  a  year  after  I 
entered  their  service  the  doctors  thought  a  sea  voyage 
would  favor  the  poor  young  lady,  and  as  her  father 
had  just  died  and  left  my  master  some  property  in 
the  Brazils,  it  was  settled  that  she  should  go  with  him 
to  take  possession  and  make  arrangements  for  its 
being  properly  managed,  and  I  was  to  go  with  them. 
Well,  I  went: — ^but  perhaps  I  am  tiring  you,  miss, 
with  my  long  story 

“  Oh  no,”  replied  Miss  Hartop,  “  I  am  much  inter¬ 
ested  ;  pray  go  on  ;  and  so  you  went  with  them— 
well  ?” 

“  Yes,  mifes,  I  went  with  them,  and  we  had 'a  safe 
and  prosperous  voyage,  and  I  was  delighted  with  the 
novelties  all  about  me;  but  you  are  book-learned,  miss, 
so  I  won’t  stop  to  tell  you  of  all  the  wonders  of  the 
mighty  ocean  that  we  passed.  Well,  we  arrived  in  that 
strange  foreign  country  at  last,  and  master  took  a  house 
near  a  place  called  St.  Sebastian,  the  largest  town  in 
Rio  Jannuary^  and  there  we  found  everything  wonder¬ 
ful  strange,  and  the  language  and  all  was  puzzling  to 
my  English  ways ;  still,  I  loved  my  dear  young  mis¬ 
tress,  and  when  at  last  it  pleased  God  to  send  them 
their  hearts’  desire,  in  a  beautiful  little  boy,  I  was  truly 
happy  ; — yet — oh,  miss,  my  heart  is  almost  broken  when 


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I  think  upon  my  wicked  selfishness.”  For  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  old  Nanny  wept  in  silence,  leaving  Miss  liar  top 
quite  unable  to  understand  the  cause  of  her  sudden 
emotion,  Presently,  however,  she  roused  herself,  and 
begging  pardon  for  the  interruption  thus  pursued  her 
story : — “  Well,  all  must  be  told.  The  dear  child  grew 
rapidly,  and  for  two  years  he  was  the  joy  and  delight 
of  Us  all,  and  if  my  dear  mistrepss’  health  had  been 
good  my  master  would  have  been  truly  happy  ;  but 
she  became  more  and  more  delicate,  and  it  was  thought 
that  she  could  never  bear  the  long  voyage  back  to  Eng¬ 
land,  so  we  were  kept  on  and  on  at  that  strange  place 
always  hoping  that  she  would  get  stronger  soon :  how¬ 
ever,  at  last -master’s  affairs  required  his  immediate  pre¬ 
sence  in  England,  and  go  he  must,  so  the  doctors  told 
him  to  keep  up  a  good  heart  and  that  as  his  dear  lady 
had  now  in  some  degree  improved  they  hoped  when  the 
more  favorable  season  should  set  in  she  would  certainly 
be  able  to  follow  him,  though  it  would  probably  kill  her 
if  she  returned  with  him  at  that  time.  So  at  last,  miss, 
he  made  up  his  poor  mind  to  go  and  to  leave  me  in 
charge  of  my  dear  mistress  and  sweet  master  Herbert. 
— Me  !  oh,  wh^  was  I  left  ? — Oh,  Miss  Hartop,  now 
you  shakl  hear  my  sad,  sad  fault.  Well^  at  last  he  went, 
and  a  terrible  sad  parting  it  was ;  but  neither  of  them 
thought  what  an  endless  one  it  was  to  prove.  When 
he  was  gone  my  dear  lady  made  every  effort  to  recover 
her  spirits,  and  took  every  remedy  that  they  proposed 
for  her  improvement  in  health,  but  all  in  vain,  and  in 
two  months,  just  when  I  had  been  directed  to  take  her 
to  England,  she  expired  in  my  arms  and  left  the  darling 
of  her  hea.t  to  the  care  of  me  and  the  native  nur^o 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


133 


Maytee,  who  had  always  assisted  me  in.  taking  charge  of 
him  ;  and  as  I  never  could  understand  any  language  but 
my  own  I  was  truly  glad  to  have  this  woman  who  knew 
all  that  were  spoken  in  that  outlandish  place.  The  gen¬ 
tleman  whom  master  had  left  to  act  as  his  agent  during 
his  absence  gave  ail  the  orders  for  my  poor  lady’s  fune¬ 
ral  himself,  and  v/ithout  waiting  for  directions  from 
my  master,  he  determined  that  I  should  go  directly  to 
England  with  dear  master  Herbert,  and  take  Maytee 
with  me,  and  as  soon  as  possible  we  embarked  on 
board  a  trading  vessel.  My  dear  little  charge  was 
very  happy,  and  liked  being  on  board  ship  very  much, 
and  would  sit  for  hours  on  my  lap  looking  over  the 
ship’s  side,  and  watching  the  white  foam  which  fol¬ 
lowed  on  our  track.  He  was  a  beautiful  child,  miss, 
with  very  dark  brilliant  eyes,  and  very  long  dark 
curls  like^  his  mother’s,  and  every  one  on  board 
seemed  to  admire  him,  though,  except  the  captain,  my¬ 
self  and  Maytee,  no  one  knew  whose  child  he  was. 
We  had  only  been  at  sea  about  a  fortnight,  when  one 
day  while  we  were  all  below,  a  sudden  storm  arose, 
with  thunder,  lightning  and  wind.  In  less  than  half  an 
hour  our  sails  were  split  to  pieces.  The  sailors  said  it 
commenced  from  south-east,  but  the  wind  shifted  to  the 
north,  and  w'e  were  driven  along,  like  chaff  before  the 
wind.  The  sea  now  rose  in  tremendous  billows  around 
us,  and  the  vessel  was  now  as  it  were  up  to  the  heavens, 
and  then  down  to  the  depths  of  the  seas  below.  All  waa 
terror  and  confusion.  In  another  half-hour  the  sai¬ 
lors  cut  away  the  main- mast,  which  fell  with  a  tremen¬ 
dous  crash,  making  the  ship  quiver  from  stem  to  stern. 
Oh  !  Miss  Hartop,  pity  me,  but  do  not  hold  to  my  self 


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condemnation.  My  strength  and  spirits  seemed  to 
fail  me,  and  I  turned  suddenly  faint,  when  May  tee  took 
^’om  my  arms  my  precious  charge.  In  another  mo- 
nent  the  long-boat  was  lowered  ;  the  captain  gave  or¬ 
ders  that  as  many  as  with  safety  could  get  on  board  her 
should  lose  no  time  in  doing^  so.  One  of  the  ship’s 
officers  seized  me  by  the  shoulder,  and  hurried  me  on 
to  the  edge  of  the  sinking  ship,  and  oh,  miss,  I  t.aought 
only  of  my  own  danger  ;  I  forgot  my  precious  child, 
and  poor  May  tee  unfortunately  but  ill-understood  what 

the  English  sailors  said,  and  did  not - but  oh,  I  don’t 

purtend  to  tell  how  it  happened,  but  when  we  wer^ 
all  crowded  into  the  boat,  they  put  off,  and  in  an  in¬ 
stant  we  were  at  the  top  of  a  crest  of  a  tremendous 
wave,  and  ihere^  in  the  deep  trough  of  the  sea,  I  saw 
poor  Maytee  on  the  deck  of  the  ill-fated  vessel  with 
my  charge  held  up  in  agony  towards  me  ! — I  wished 
I  had  died.  I  was  frantic  ;  but  it  was  of  no  use,  and 
poor  Maytee  and  the  precious  child  were  lost !  Oh, 
ma’am!  my  dear  lady  forgive  me:”  and  poor  Nanny 
sunk  back  in  her  chair,  quite  exhausted  with  the  over¬ 
powering  recollections  of  that  dreadful  day.  When 
she  recovered,  she  concluded  her  sad  tale,  by  saying 
that  th^  poor  sufferers  in  the  boat, -after  some  hours 
of  extreme  peril,  were  saved  by  a  vessel  homeward 
bound,  and  that,  on  her  safe  arrival  in  England,  she 
had  come  to  her  native  village,  but  that  she  had  ne¬ 
ver  ventured  to  see  her  injured  master,  who  had  ever 
since,  as  she  had  heard,  been  at  times  almost  bereft  of 
his  senses,  and  was  always  very  strange  in  all  his 
^ays : — she  added,  “  Oh,  miss,  it  would  be  a  comfort 
to  me  now  to  see  him,  and  ask  his  forgiveness,  but  I 


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135 


fear  I  shall  never  see  him  more.  Your  dear,  kind  fa- 
»  ther,  Miss  Hartop,  knew  all  my  sad  story,  and  during 
his  life,  as  you  know,  he  never  let  me  want,  but  he 
died,  and  since  that,  I  have  known  much  sickness  and 
poverty ;  but  I  bless  the  Giver  of  all  good  who  has 
thus  comfortably  provided  for  me  in  my  old  age,  and 
I  do  hope  my  dear  lady.  He  will  mercifully  deign  to 
forgive  my  past  sins,  and  receive  me  into  His  glorious 
kingdom  hereafter.” 

Old  Nanny  covered  her  face  with  her  apron  and 
wept  in  silence  ;  for  a  time  her  kind  and  considerate 
visitor  would  not  interrupt  her  tears,  assured  as  she  was 
that  the  source  from  which  they  sprung  would  bring  a 
healing  balm  to  her  wounded  and  self-convicted  spirit 
In  a  few  moments,  however,  she  ventured  to  offer  some 
words  of  consolation,  and  to  assure  the  poor  old  woman 
that  she  felt  not  a  doubt  that  a  fault  so  evidently  the 
result  of  weakness  and  want  of  presence  of  mind,  and  so 
unceasingly  repented,  would  find  pardon  and  forgive¬ 
ness  at  the  throne  of  grace,  and  then  she  comforted  her 
by  reading  from  the  Holy  Book  those  precious  promises 
of  forgiveness  which  are  there  offered  to  all  sincere 
penitents  who  rest  on  their  Saviour’s  merits  for  the  re¬ 
mission  of  sins.  She  then  gradually  turned  to  other 
topics  of  conversation,  though  she  felt  much  disposed  to 
ask  many  questions  on  the  subject  of  the  interesting 
story  to  which  she  had  been  listening ;  she  observed 
that  Nanny  had  not  mentioned  the  name  of  the  family 
of  whom  she  had  been  speaking,  but  as  it  had  probably 
been  purposely  avoided.  Miss  Hartop  with  intuitive  deli¬ 
cacy  withheld  inquiries  which  might  add  to  the  poor  old 
woman’s  sorrow.  After  sitting  a  few  more  minutes  sha 


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rose,  and  taking  poor  Nanay^s  hand,  said,  1  must 
leave  you  now,  my  good  old  friend,  but  I  will  not  do  so 
without  giving  you  my  assurance  that  my  mind  is  much 
more  filled  with  pity  than  with  blame.  I  can  assure 
you  I  most  fully  enter  into  all  your  troubled  feelings, 
and  I  will  soon  come  again,  and  stay  with  you  a  longer 
time.  She  then  left  the  room  followed  by  the  grateful 
thanks  of  the  old  woman. 

As  she  passed  through  the  court-yard  she  met  some 
af  the  poor  people  whom  she  had  intended  to  visit,  but 
as  her  mind  was  now  much  occupied  with  the  strange 
story  which  had  just  been  related  to  her,  she  spoke 
kindly  to  them,  and  telling  them*  she  should  come  and 
see  them  on  the  next  day,  passed  on.  The  evening  was 
intensely  cold,  and  a  bright  silvery  moon  lighted  Miss 
Hartop’s  homeward  steps,  the  events  of  the  past  day 
absorbed  her  thoughts,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  real 
comfort  and  satisfaction  that  she  entered  her  own 
quiet  little  sitting-room,. where,  with  closely  shuttered 
and  curtained  windows,  and  with  warmly  slippered  feet 
placed  on  a  foot-stool  before  the  fire,  we  will  leave  her 
to  sip  her  coffee  and  indulge  in  a  long  and  solitary 
reverie  cn  the  occurrences  of  the  last  few  hours,  bo 
fraught  'tith  exciting  and  painful  interest. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Charles’  visit  to  the  Harters  gave  rise  to  a  great 
many  questions  on  the  following  morning,  but  having 
assured  them  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  were  very 
kind,  he  took  refuge  from  a  further  discussion  of  the 
subject  by  describing  the  strange  old  gentleman  in  the 
omnibus.  Mrs.  Sinclair  said,.  Surely  it  must  have 
been  that  old  gentleman  that  nurse  used  to  tell  us  al¬ 
ways  contrived  to  pass  her  in  her  walks  when  she  used 
to  have  our  poor  little  darling  Henry  with  her.”  Kate 
perfectly  remembered  that  she  had  often  remarked  this 
old  gentleman,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  saying  that 
she  really  did  believe  that  same  old  gentleman  cam6 
into  her  room  at  Belmont  on  the  day  of  the  sale,  but 
checked  herself,  as  she  never  in  her  father’s  presence 
alluded  to  the  occurrences  of  that  day ;  she  called 
Honor  and  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  heard  nurse  men¬ 
tion  this  gentleman.  “  Och  thin,  Miss  Kate,  I  have, 
but  I  niver  seen  him.  Nurse  used  to  say  t’ was  mighty 
fond  he  seemed  of  the  blessed  babby,  and  often  he  used 
to  walk  close  along  behind  her  and  spake  of  the  purty 
bright  eyes,  as  would  be  peeping  over  her  shouldher  at 
the  quare  ould  man,  oh,  but  thim  eyes  wor  bright  as  the 
stars  in  Heaven.” 

^‘And  do  you  know  the  gentleman’s  name,  Hcnor?” 


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“  Sorrow  a  bit  I  knows  of  him,  miss,  but  sbure  nurso 
does ;  at  laste  I  beard  her  say  ^twas  a  name  sbe  niver 
could  recollect,  by  wbicb  means  sbe  kept  it  wholly  to 
herself ;  but  I  beg  yer  pardon,  Miss  Kate,  I  think  I 
bear  that  Scotch  lady  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  will  I 
go  an’  ask  her  to  come  in  This  was  said  in  order  to 
give  Mrs.  Sinclair  time  to  escape,  as  the  mention  of  her 
little  one  had  painfully  affected  her,  and  Honor’s  quick 
perception  taught  her  that  at  such  a  moment  the  arri¬ 
val  of  a  stranger  might  be  undesirable,  and  the  hint 
was  taken.  Honor  dexterously  avoiding  admitting  tho 
visitor  till  her  mistress  had  safely  reached  the  inner 
room. 

When  Miss  Moffat  entered,  the  children  could 
scarcely  help  smiling,  so  strange  was  her  appearance,  for 
as  usual  she  had  put  on  all  the  smart  things  she  could 
collect,  and  as  she,  stood  by  the  side  of  Kate  in  her 
pretty  modest  morning-dress,  she  seemed  herself  to  bo 
quite  struck  with  the  contrast  which  she  presented,  and 
mentally  decided  that,  “  Deed  then.  Miss  Scnclar’s  dress 
is  in  muckle  better  teesto  than  mine,  an’  I  sail  mak  a 
grate  change  in  my  garments  as  sune  as  I  get  the 
means  to  do  it.”  However,  this  was  but  a  passing 
thought,  and  she  approached  the  party  with  much 
respect  and  evident  timidity.  Mr.  Sinclair  placed  a 
chair  for  her  and  took  her  offered  hand,  and  entered  into 
conversation  with  her  so  kindly  and  pleasantly  that 
Miss  Moffat’s  heart  was  quite  warmed  and  won,  and  she 
proceeded  to  announce  the  object  of  her  visit.  “  I’m 
thinking,  ye  see,  Maistress  Senclar,  that  ye  are  nae  that 
comfortable  here  in  this  far  up  apartment,  an’  I  dinna 
ken  hoo  ye  in  a’  manage,  but  I  feel  sure  ye  canna  be 


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139 


unco  cosy ;  sae  as  the  lodgers  are  going  awa  next  week 
ye  are  kindly  welcome  to  the  use  o’  thae  rooms.”  This 
kind  proposal,  though  duly  appreciated,  was  firmly  but 
kindly  declined  by  Mr.  Sinclair,  who  could  not  consent 
to  thus  depriving  the  good  Scotchwoman  of  half  her 
means  of  subsistence ;  and,  as  he  could  not  remunerate 
her  for  the  accommodation,  he  told  her  that  for  the 
present  they  did  not  really  require  such  an  arrange¬ 
ment.  Atweel,  ye’ll  just  think  anent  the  matter  and 
let  me  know  yer  wishes.”  And  then,  to  tarn  the  sub¬ 
ject,  she  began  to  admire  the  twa  sweet  little  girls:” 
but  as  her  remarks  were  not  calculated  to  lower  these 
young  ladies  in  their  own  estimation  they  were  soon 
dismissed,  and  Kate  asked  her  to  tell  them  something 
of  the  “  pretty  little  Scotch  girl  with  the  golden  hair 
this  was  a  favorite  theme  with  Miss  Mo  fiat,  and  she 
told  them  some  portion  of  the  child’s  story,  reserving 
only  such  points  as  reflected  credit  on  herself,  and  when 
she  made  her  parting  curtsy,  she  left  a  most  favorable 
impression  on  the  minds  of  all  present. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  Mr.  Sinclair  told  Kate 
that  he  much  wished  to  have  some  conversation  with 
her,  and  as  the  day  was  bright  and  frosty  he  proposed 
that  they  should  go  and  take  a  long  walk  together :  to 
this  Kate  readily  assented,  and  putting  on  her  warmest 
dress  and  drawing  a  thick  Veil  over  her  face  she  took 
her  father’s  arm  and  together  they  walked,  and  closely  - 
and  earnestly  they  conversed  for  more  than  two  hours  : 
the  result  of  this  confidence  appeared  in  the  resolutions 
which  were  announced  by  Mr.  Sinclair  as  they  sat 
round  their  little  fire,  when  the  younger  children 
were  gone  t*  bed.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  not  yet  been 


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told  that  Kate  had  decided  on  seeking  the  situation 
of  a  governess  ;  it  was  a  very  painful  effort  to  both  her 
and  her  father  to  introduce  so  painful  a  subject ;  yet 
knowing  that  although  of  a  timid  and  unenergetic  cha¬ 
racter  she  was  actuated  and  guided  by  truly  Christian 
principles,  they  felt  assured  that  she  would  soon  be¬ 
come  reconciled  to  any  patli  of  duty  however  painlul  ; 
and  tliey  were  not  mistaken :  her  weakened  spirits  re¬ 
quired  a  little  support  when  she  first  heard  that  lier 
darling  girl  was  to  Leave  her,  and  the  sudden  rush  of 
a  mother’s  fears  came  into  her  heart,  filling  it  with  all 
those  nameless  anxieties  which  mothers  alone  can  feel. 
Soon,  however,  she  derived  comfort  from  the  thoughts 
of  her  noble  girl’s  bright  and  estimable  character  which 
musi  secure  for  her  kind  friends,  and  whose  steady 
Christian  principles  would  keep  her  safe  from  danger 
even  amidst  the  difficulties  and  temptations  of  the  busy 
world :  but  she  had  yet  more  to  learn,  for  Mr.  Sinclair 
had  resolved  on  employing  his  talents  as  a  painter  for 
the  benefit  of  his  family,  while  Mrs.  Sinclair  might,  by 
devoting  her  whole  attention  to  the  younger  children, 
prepare  them  for  the  situation  of  governesses  as  soon 
as  they  should  be  at  an  age  for  such  a  responsible 
office.  Meanwhile  Charles  should  seek  to  obtain  some 
employment  by  which  he  might  be  enabled  to  maintain 
himself  Long  and  earnestly  were  all  these  plans  con¬ 
sidered,  and  ere  they  retired  for  the  night  each  sought 
in  fervent  prayer  the  aid  they  needed  to  enable  them 
to  fulfil  the  duties  which  they  had  respectfully  under¬ 
taken. 

Some  days  now  elapsed,  which,  bringing  with  them 
no  new  incident,  enabled  the  Sinclairs  to  arrange  and 


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lli 


l5riHg  into  action  the  plans  to  which  we  have  alluded. 
Already  is  the  easel  placed  in  its  most  advantageous 
position ;  Mr.  Sinclair  is  busily  engaged  in  painting  a 
lovely  summer  scene,  and  as  the  picture  glows  and 
brightens  beneath  his  vivifying  touch,  it  almost  banishes 
from  his  mind,  the  sad  remembrance  that  the  summer 
of  his  life  is  overcast,”  and  that  the  clouds  of  poverty 
and  sorrow,  are  fast  closing  around  all  he  loves  on 
earth  ;  the  feeling,  too,  that  he  is  by  active  exertion 
using  the  best  efforts  to  dissipate  these  clouds  tends  to 
cheer  and  comfort  him,  and  by  degrees  restores  his 
mind  to  a  state  of  almost  happiness.  Once  more 
ploasant  and  even  cheerful  conversation  and  busy  em¬ 
ployment  lend  new  life  and  vigor  tb  the  hearts  of  all, 
and  Kate,  with  a  feeling  of  thankfulness,  perceives  that 
the  fury  of  the  storm  has  passed  away.  She  now  silent¬ 
ly  and  quietly  exerted  herself  to  prepare  for  leaving 
her  now  almost  comfortable  home,  and  to  be  ready  to 
accept  the  first  situation  which  might  be  offered  her. 
She  endeavored  as  much  as  possibke  to  conciliate  the 
the  good  Miss  Moffat,  from  whose  kind  and  friendly 
disposition  she  hoped  much  advantage  might  arise  ; 
and  she  so  won  the  good  Scotch  lady’s  heart,  that  she 
declared  to  little  Maggie,  who  was  her  only  companion, 
that  “’Deed,  then.  Miss  Senclar  was  just  the  varra 
pattern  o’  perfaction,  and  that  the  sight  o’  her  sweet 
bonnie  face  was  amangst  her  daily  blessings;  but  I 
fear  she  canna  be  owr  that  happy,  puir  young  leddy,  for 
I  am  sure  she  has  been  weel  cared  for,  an’  weel 
brought  up,  and  leetle  used  to  sic  a  life  of  trouble 
and  anxiety ;  but  she  is  sae  calm  and  gentle  that  she 
bears  a’  wi’  a  thankfu’  spirit  that  will  aye  find  its  re* 


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ward  :  and  I’m  thinking  I  might  e’  tak  a  lesson  fia  hot 
in  mony  ways,  ’specially  anent  the  matter  of  the  putting 
on  mair  seemly  attire,  an’  I’ll  no  wear  them  gaudy  duds 
again.”  The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  in  soliloquy,  as 
Maggie  had  departed  from  her  side  before  its  conclu¬ 
sion  ;  but  Miss  Moffat,  who  was  really  in  earnest,  lost 
no  time  in  removing  as  much  as  possible  the  lappita 
and  gewgaws  which  she  had  hitherto  deemed  the  best 
proof  which  she  could  afford  the  world  of  her  bygone 
days  of  gen^6*clity.  Kate  was  pleased  as  well  as  sur¬ 
prised  at  the  reformation  which  had  taken  place  in 
her  appearance ;  but  little  Maggie,  who  was  used  to 
her  finery  and  rather  approved  it,  said,  “  ’Deed  then  I’m 
maist  afeard  my  dear  leddy’s  ganging  daft  like  puir  auld 
granddad,  an’  I’m  unco  fashed  to  see  her  tak  on  sae  wi* 
Miss  Kate by  which  we  may  infer  that  the  little 
Scotch  lassie  had  a  spice  of  j^nlousy  in  her  youth- 
f'il  heart  1 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Christmas  was  now  fast  approaching,  and  the  young 
people  could  scarcely  refrain  from  expressing  their  re¬ 
grets.  when  a  comparison  would  arise  in  their  minds, 
between  the  circumstances  of  the  present  season  and 
those  of  former  days.  Still,  for  their  parents’  sake, 
they  would  not  even  to  each  other  give  utterance  to 
their  painful  thoughts,  and  it  was  with  heartfelt  plea¬ 
sure  that  Kate  one  morning  heard  the  following  com 
versation  between  her  two  little  sisters,  who  still  shared 
her  room  with  her. 

‘‘Rosy,”  said  Emily,  “  are  you  awake,  dear?” 

“  Yes  ;  I  have  been  staying  quietly  thinking,  be- 
cause  I  thought  you  and  Kate  were  asleep.  But,  hush, 
don’t  wake  her,  for  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  .Don’t  you 
know,  Emily,  to-lnorrow  will  be  Christmas-day  ?  And 
don’t  you  remember  how  we  used  to  have  the  hall  dressed 
with  holly  ?  and  all  Kate’s  scyhool  girls  used  to  come 
and  sing  a  beautiful  carol,  all  standing  round  the  pretty 
tree  which  the  gardener  used  to  put  there  after  papa 
and  mamma  were  gone  to  bed  ?  Oh,  Emily  !  I  declare 
I  quite  long  for  my  dear,  dear  home  again,  don’t  you 

“  Yes,  my  darling  Rosy,  I  do  indeed  long  for  it 
sometimes  ;  but  then  you  know,  dear,  we  must  not  vex 
them  all  by  looking  sad  and  gloomy ;  and  then  you 


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know  if  they  think  we  are  happy  and  merry  they  will  ^ 
be  cheerful  too,  perhaps.  But  I  really  cannot  bear  to 
see  dear  Katey  losing  all  her  pretty  color,  and  try¬ 
ing  to  please  us  all.  Never  does  she  complain  of  us, 
even  wdien  we  are  noisy  or  troublesome ;  so  now  do 
let  us  try  to  follow  her  example,  and  be  good  and  use¬ 
ful,  and  forget  that  we  ever  knew  happier  days  than 
these,” 

Bosa  v/as  quite  ready  to  promise  all  that  was  re¬ 
quired  of  her,  and  already  the  little  cloud,  which  had 
for  a  moment  overshadowed  her  naturally  sweet  dispo¬ 
sition,  had  vanished,  and  by  Emily’s  good  counsel  the 
sunshine  of  her  heart  was  restored.  She  then  .eagerly 
confided  her  important  secret,  which  for  a  moment  had 
been  forgotten.  In  a  small  ornamental  box,  which  the 
children  called  their  bank,  there  had  accumulated  some 
little  savings  of  their  own,  and  Rosa  now  proposed  that 
all  this  treasure  should  be  committed  to  the  care  and 
judicious  management  of  “dear  Kate,”  that  she  might 
be  able  to  purchase  some  evergreens  and  holly,  and 
make  some  other  preparations,  which  might  assist  to 
enliven  the  solitary  room  to  which  they  were  now  so 
much  confined.  After  much  whispering  and  settling 
of  these  innocent  plans,  Kate,  who  had  more  than 
once  reminded  them  that  she  was  not  sleeping,  was  at 
last  appealed  to  as  to  the  best  means  of  carrying  into 
effect  their  proposed  embellishments  ;  and  it  was  agreed 
that  Charles  should  be  employed  to  buy  a  quantity  of 
holly  with  “  plenty  of  beautiful  red  berries  ;”  and  that 
after  “  papa  and  mamma  ”  were  gone  to  rest  they 
would  all  meet  and  decorate  the  old  studio,  and  that 
one  of  Charles’  first  purchases  should  be  some  brightly 
rr. 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


145 


^  burning  wood,  that  they  might  have  a  blazing  fire  to 
greet  them  on  that  cold  Christmas  morning.  Little 
Rosa  now  suggested  to  Emily  that  it  would  be  better 
to  avoid  saying  one  word  about  last  Christmas,  but 
think  this  new  way  of  spending  it  quite  as  charming 
and  delightful.  And  in  the  glow  of  young  and 
generous  feeling  these  children  found  a  pure  happiness, 
far  exceeding  all  that  could  be  purchased  by  wealth  or 
luxury. 

Kate  fully  appreciated  these  right  and  goi)d  feel- 
^  ings,  yet  she  offered  no  injudicious  praises,  and  the 
children  only  knew  by  her  loving  kiss  and  gentle  smile 
that  she  was  pleased  with  their  sweet  conduct. 

Charles  was  soon  admitted  to  their  counsels,  and 
both  he  and  Honor  gladly  promised  their  ready  assist¬ 
ance  ;  and  having  gained  Miss  Moffat’s  consent,  Charles* 
sleeping-room  was  soon  filled  with  all  that  they 
required  for  the  decoration  of  the  studio,  and  many 
pretty  and  ingenious  devices  were  formed  from  the 
bright  leaves  and  berries  of  the  holly. 

•  While  all  were  thus  busily  engaged,  a  sudden  and 
loud  knock  at  the  hall-door  summoned  little  Maggie, 
and  she  presently  returned  with  a  face  beaming  with 
pleasure,  and  said,  “  Oh,  Maister  Charles,  that  black¬ 
looking  woman  has  just  been  here  again,  an’  she  wad  na 
wait  tull  1  ca’t  ye ;  an’  she’s  gone  away  wis  an  unco 
quick  step,  and  I’m  thinking  ye’d  hae  som  trouble  to 
o’erget  her,  an’  she’s  left  siccan  a  great  basket  on  the 
ha’  floor.”  Out  ran  all  the  young  party,  and  there 
they  indeed  found  a  large  basket,  directed  to  Master 
Charles  Sinclair,  containing,  as  they  found  upon  inspec¬ 
tion,-  an  abundance  of  good  things ;  a  fine  turkey,  wine, 

7 


146 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


some  oranges,  and  many  other  acceptable  presents,  \ 

eluding  cakes  and  even  toys  for  the  young  ones,  with 
a  store  of  amusing  books,  but  without  any  note  by 
which  they  could  discover  the  kind  friend  who  thus 
endeavored  to  cheer  the  first  season  of  penury  and 
privation. 

The  children’s  little  arrangements  were  at  last  com¬ 
pleted,  and  the  room  really  looked  quite  picturesque^ 
with  its  dark  walls  enlivened  by  wreaths  of  bright  ever¬ 
greens  ;  and  when  the  party  assembled  themselves 
round  the  cheerful  fire  in  the  morning,  no  feeling  but  ^ 
that  of  thankfulness  for  the  mercies  and  comforts  by 
which  they  were  still  surrounded  held  a  place  in  their 
hearts.  The  greetings  on  that  day  were  more  than  eve? 
loving  and  affectionate,  and  a  holy  peace  and  calm 
filled  all  their  minds.  The  services  of  the  Church  were 
duly  attended  by  them  all,  and  a  day  of  quiet,  rational 
enjoyment  succeeded  ;  though,  when  the  well-provided 
table  induced  the  necessity  of  divulging  the  secret  of 
the  mysterious  present,  Mr.  Sinclair  expressed  some 
compunction  at  having  thus  a  second  time  incurred  an 
obligation  to  a  stranger.  He  soon,  however,  consoled 
himself  by  the  thought,  which  had  naore  than  once  oc¬ 
curred  to  his  mind,  that  his  brother  had  possibly  heard 
of  his  distress,  and  had  thus  in  an  eccentric  way  en¬ 
deavored  to  lighten  the  privations  of  his  children.  Ke- 
solving  therefore  not  to  lessen  the  pleasure  which  they 
so  well  deserved,  he  wisely  forbore  from  dwelling  on 
any  subject  of  dissatisfaction. 

Poor  Miss  MoSat  had  been  kindly  invited  to  join 
their  fireside  circle,  but  with  ‘  muckle  thanks”  she  had 
excused  herseh^  as  she  bad  passed  her  ‘  Christmaa 


Is  HOME. 


14? 


tide’  this  mony  a  year  wi’  an  nuld  Scottish  cousin  wha 
lived  in  an  adjoining  street,  and  on  this  occasion  her 
little  protegee,  Maggie,  was  to  bear  her  company.’^ 

Late  in  the  evening  Mr.  Sinclair  drew  his  children 
round  him,  and  thanked  them  all  with  much  emotion 
for  the  unselfish  spirit  which  they  had  evinced  on  every 
occasion  since  their  sad  change  of  circumstanees  ;  he 
gladdened  their  hearts  by  the  assurance  that  he  had 
experienced  more  true  happiness  on  that  day  than  he 
ever  remembered  to  have  enjoyed  in  the  bright  days  of 
their  prosperity.  And  thus  the  “  Christmas-day,”  which 
all  had  feared  would  prove  one  of  painful  and  sad  re¬ 
collections  only,  had  passed  in  peace  and  tranquillity, 
brightened  by  the  sweet  affection  and  lov’ng  exertions 
of  these  truly  excellent  children. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


On  the  following  morning,  as  they  were  all  seated  at 
their  various  employments,  Honor  entered  the  room, 
and  passing  round  to  Kate’s  side,  she  placed  a  letter  in 
her  hand.  Kate’s  before  bright  cheek  becomes  deadly 
pale  as  she  recognis  /s  Miss  Hartop’s  seal  and  direction  ; 
and  without  a  word  of  answer  to  the  various  demands 
as  to  “  Who  it  was  from,”  &c.  she  hastily  rushed  to  her 
little  room,  and  closing  the  door  she  read  the  following 
letter  :  “  I  cannot  describe  to  you,  my  dearest  friend, 
the  sorrow  which  filled  my  heart  when  I  read  your  sad 
account  of  your  dear  father’s  recent  misfortune,  and  I 
quite  longed  to  be  with  you  all  in  your  affliction,  but 
that  was  impossible,  and  you  will  perhaps  have  won¬ 
dered  that  I  did  not  more  immediately  answer  your 
letter,  but  in  consequence  of  my  having  left  Durham  I 
did  not  receive  it  for  some  days.  I  have  waited  since 
a  short  time  that  I  might  tell  you  the  result  of  an  ap¬ 
plication  which  I  had  made  to  Lady  Beauchamp,  of 
whom  I  knew  enough  to  ensure  the  conviction  that  in 
her  house  you,  my  dearest  Kate,  would  receive  the 
kindest  consideration.  This  morning’s  post  has,  I  am 
thankful  to  tell  you,  brought  me  a  most  favorable 
inswer,  and  I  will  not  lose  a  moment  in  telling  you  the 
contents  of  her  letter.”  Miss  Ilartop  then  proceeds  to 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


149 


detail  to  Kate  the  particulars  of  her  correspondence 
with  Lady  Beauchamp,  and  then  adds,  ‘‘  Although,  my 
dearest  Kate,  you  will  believe  that  I  fully  sympathise 
with  you  in  the  feelings  which  the  separation  from  all 
your  family  must  occasion,  and  can  enter  into  all  your 
anxieties  at  the  thoughts  of  the  arduous  responsibilities 
before  you,  yet  I  feel  such  perfect  confidence  in  your 
high  sense  of  duty,  that  I  feel  assured  you  will  soon 
become  reconciled  to  all  which  at  first  may  be  irksome 
and  painful ;  and  I  doubt  not  you  will  speedily  gain 
the  esteem  and  regard  of  your  excellent  host  and  hostessj 
for  in  their  house  you  will  be  treated  almost  as  a 
visitor.  Do  not  then,  dear  girl,  alarm  yourself,  but 
meet  Lady  Beauchamp  with  full  confidence  that  in  her 
you  will  find  one  of  mind  congenial  with  your  own.  I 
am  myself  going  into  the  family  of  a  merchant,  in  Lon¬ 
don,  and  I  trust  we  may  ere  long  meet  again.’’  Miss 
Hartop  added  many  messages  of  affection  and  sympa¬ 
thy,  and  closed  her  letter  by  informing  Kate  that  her 
salary  for  the  present  would  be  £80  per  annum,  and 
that  Lady  Beauchamp  hoped  to  see  her  as  soon  as  she 
could,  with  convenience  to  herself,  leave  home. 

After  reading  this  letter,  which  cost  her  many  tears 
of  mingled  feeling,  poor  Kate  sat,  for  some  time,  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  and  in  silence  sought  the 
only  aid  which  could  enable  her  to  meet  with  resigna¬ 
tion  and  fortitude,  the  sad  separation  from  her  family, 
which  she  felt  must  so  immediately  take  place.  Rous¬ 
ing  herself,  however,  from  these  painful  thoughts,  she 
sought  to  obtain  a  calm  and  cheerful  appearance  before 
she  met  her  parents ;  and  as  she  paced  her  little  room, 
she  tried  to  think  only  of  the  benefit  which  would  arise 


150 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


to  all  by  this  self-sacrifice.  She  thought  herself  un¬ 
grateful  so  to  have  received  an  intimation  which  ought 
to  be  a  subject  for  thankfulness  :  but  again  and  again 
did  the  thought  of  leaving  all  she  loved  subdue  her 
newly  acquired  firmness,  and  it  was  long  before  she 
could  summon  courage  to  seek  her  father,  and  with  as¬ 
sumed  cheerfulness  place  before  him  the  letter  which 
had  thus  excited  her  feelings. 

We  will  pass  over  the  few  days  which  intervened, 
days  of  sorrow  which  all  must  feel  when  about  vO  part 
from  those  so  dearly  loved,  but  which  were  endured 
by  all  with  constancy  and  firmness,  evincing  the  excel¬ 
lent  principles  by  which  they  were  actuated.  Kate 
made  many  little  arrangements  for  the  comfort  of  her 
family ;  one  of  her  first  objects  being  to  engage  the 
rooms  which  Miss  Moffat  had  offered  for  their  use, 
and  for  which  she  undertook  to  remunerate  her. 
Much  good  advice,  too,  she  gave  to  her  little  darling 
sisters,  who,  with  tears,  promised  to  be  obedient  and 
useful.  Honor,  too,  the  good,  faithful  Honor,  was 
kindly  reminded  of  her  new  responsibilities  during 
Kate’s  absence  ;  in  short,  nothing  was  omitted  which 
her  tender,  careful  forethought  could  secure  for  the 
comfort  of  her  parents.  Poor  Honor  could  scarcely 
compose  herself  sufficiently  to  receive  these  needful 
directions,  which  she  continually  interrupted  by  some 
new  expression  of  her  sorrow.  .  Och,  miss,  an’  shall 
we  be  deprived  of  yer  swate  company  entirely  ?  An’ 
will  we  be  left  like  pillicans  in  the  wilderness,  let  alone 
the  owls  in  the  desert,  or  the  sparrows  on  the  house 
top.  What’ll  become  of  us  1  Mavourneen,  bad  manners 
to  me,  to  think  of  calling  the  likes  of  ye  by  sich  fami- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


151 


liarity.  But  eh,  Miss  Kate,  ye’re  dearer  to  me  than 
all  the  world,  and  whar  will  I  find  any  comfort  at  all 
when  ye’re  gone  far  away  ?  An’  all  for  what  ?  Share 
the  lady  might  tache  her  own  children,  but  its  little 
die’d  school  ’em  as  you  will.  Well,  miss,  I  ax  yer 
pardon,  but  ye’ll  forgive  my  fools  of  tares,  for  its 
mighty  tazing  they  do  always  be.  Ai^d  now,  miss 
Kate,  ye  know  yer  brother  told  us  about  Robinson 
Cooso,  and  how  he  sent  them  things  by  his  craft ; 
well,  I  suppose,  miss,  for  the  credit  of  ould  Ireland, 
ye  will  believe  that  we  have  good  people  of  the  same 
quality :  and  one  of  them  did  be  sending  a  thrifle. 
But,  bad  cess  to  me, 'I  never  did  do  their  bidding  :  but 
ye’ll  find  it  now  upon  yer  table  in  yer  room.”  And 
there,  to  Kate’s  great  surprise,  she  found  her  own 
favorite  little  work-box,  which,  as  the  present  of  a 
kind  friend,  she  had  so  much  and  often  regretted 
losing.  But  no  art  or  intreaty  could  induce  Honor 
to  betray  the  secret  of  her  lov  «r ;  nor  could  Kate  in¬ 
duce  her  to  confess  how  this  l.  ttle  treasure  had  come 
into  her  possession. 


f 


CHAPTER  XV. 


It  was  on  a  bright,  clear,  frosty  morning  that  Kate 

commenced  lier  journey  into - shire,  and  the  rapid 

travelling  which  in  these  days  transports  the  traveller 
almost  as  by  magic  to  the  place  of  destination,  had  the 
usual  effect  of  enlivening  and  cheering  her  spirits,  so 
that  by  the  time  she  entered  the  carriage  which  was  to 
convey  her  across  the  country  to  Granby  Hall,  her 
countenance  no  longer  bore  evidence  of  the  sad  parting 
which  had  so  painfully  excited  her  feelings  in  the  morn¬ 
ing,  and,  although  still  very  pale,  she  looked  almost  as 
lovely  as  usual ;  a  drive  of  about  two  miles  brought  her 
to  the  lodge  at  the  entrance  of  Sir  Edmund  Beau¬ 
champ’s  grounds,  which  was  a  remarkably  ornamental 
building  surrounded  with  evergreens,  and  in  summer 
by  a  profusion  of  sweet  flowers.  An  elderly  woman  in 
a  snow  white  cap  and  apron  came  out  at  the  approach 
of  the  carriage,  and  opening  the  handsome  gates  ad¬ 
mitted  it  to  the  beautiful  park  which  surrounded  the 
house ;  as  it  wound  its  way  along  the  principal  road 
Kate  observed  with  delight  the  beautiful  grouping  of 
the  superb  beech  and  cedar  trees.  As  she  approached 
the  mansion,  which  was  of  Elizabe^hian  structure,  she 
perceived  that  the  grounds  rose  suddenly  behind  it,  and 
covered  with  noble  trees  formed  a  delightful  shelter 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


153 


from  the  cutting  blast  of  the  north-east  winds,  whi.e  in 
front  a  sloping  lawn  of  the  smoothest  turf  extended  to 
the  margin  of  a  fine  piece  of  water,  on  which  two  or 
three  swans  were  majestically  sailing,  and  on  whose 
bosom,  now  gilded  by  the  fast  declining  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  the  house  and  its  surrounding  objects  were 
reflected.  At  the  door  of  entrance  stood  a  handsome 
carriage,  which,  as  Kate  instantly  thought,  had  probably 
just  brought  some  visitors,  ‘and  she  felt  a  new  alarm  lest 
she  should  be  obliged  to  meet  strangers,  but  in  a  mo¬ 
ment  a  sense  of  her  now  dependent  situation  brought 
the  conviction  that  in  all  probability  she  would  be  im¬ 
mediately  directed  to  the  school-room  or  to  her  own 
apartment ;  short  time,  however,  remained  for  specula¬ 
tion,  the  carriage  turned  away  from  the  door,  and  Kate’s 
post-boy,  who  for  a  moment  had  checked  his  approach 
now  drove  up  and  rung  a  furious  peal  at  the  bell,  startling 
the  now  shrinking  girl,  and  exciting  a  thrill  of  timid 
anxiety  which  sent  a  blush  to  her  before  pale  cheek. 
A  footman  instantly  appeared,  and  opening  the  door  of 
the  carriage  offered  an  elbow  to  assist  her  in  her  de¬ 
scent,  and  with  a  respectful  air  ushered  her  into  an 
enclosed  porch,  the  inner  door  of  which  was  of  plate 
glass ;  this  was  opened  by  a  middle-aged  man  whose 
plain  dress  bespoke  him  a  principal  domestic,  and  who, 
having  enquired  her  name,  preceded  her  across  a  lofty 
and  well  carpeted  hall,  where  a  large  fire  composed  of 
heavy  logs  of  wood  blazed  in  the  wide  old  fire-place,  and 
by  its  bright  and  cheerful  light  brought  into  bold  relief 
the  beautiful  specimens  of  sculpture  with  which  the 
darkly  wainscotted  hall  was  richly  ornamented.  Quickly, 
however,  Kate  followed  her  crnductor,  and  tried  to  (|ucU 

r* 


154 


HOME  S  HOME. 


the  nervous  mauvaise  lionto  which,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  had  for  some’  moments  oppressed  her  ;  the  ser¬ 
vant  now  opened  the  door  on  her  .eft  hand,  and  an¬ 
nouncing  “  Miss  Sinclair,”  she  found  herself  in  a  large 
and  handsome  library. 

A  glance  sufficed  to  show  her  that  this  room  waa 
indeed  the  very  beau  ideal  of  comfort.  Books,  draw¬ 
ings,  portfolios  of  rare  prints  and  every  arrangement  for 
writing  or  reading  in  the  most  perfect  ease  and  enjoy¬ 
ment  met  her  eye  ;  a  large  oriel  window,  with  its  deep 
recess,  gave  a  peculiar  character  to  this  room,  and  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  brightened  every  object  around 
her ;  the  floor  was  covered  with  a  rich  Persian  carpet, 
and,  as  in  the  hall,  a  large  wood  fire  lent  its  cheering 
light  and  warmth.  Standing  in  front  of  this  fire  were 
a  lady  and  gentleman,  the  former  having  just  returned 
from  a  drive  had  not  yet  laid  aside  her  close  bonnet 
and  well-furred  mantle,  but  was  when  Kate  entered 
relating  with  much  animation  of  manner,  some  recent 
occurrence  to  the  gentleman  who,  with  his  newspaper 
in  his  hand,  was  looking  kindly  and  earnestly  into  the 
sparkling  face  of  the  narrator ;  both,  however,  started 
on  hearing  Miss  Sinclair’s  name,  and  Sir  Edmund — 
for  it  was  he — came  forward,  and  with  a  kindly  ex¬ 
tended  hand,  greeted  her  with  so  much  of  friendly 
courtesy,  that  she  at  once  regained  her  self-possession, 
and  when,  still  retaining  the  hand  which  he  had  taken, 
he  led  her  forward  to  meet  Lady  Beauchamp,  she  felt 
quite  inclined  to  return  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  soft 
hand  and  to  repay  with  a  smile  the  bright  look  of 
welcome  which  accompanied  the  kindly  assurance  that 
She  was  very  glad  to  see  her  and  felt  quite  obliged 


OME  S  HOME. 


155 


by  her  having  so  immediately  acceded  to  ter  wishes.” 
All  three  now  drew  near  the  fire,  and  after  a'  few 
moments  of  pleasing  conversation,  Sir  Edmund  said 
Well  now,  my  dear  Gertrude,  I  have  no  doubt  Miss 
Sinclair  will  feel  quite  disposed  to  take  some  little  rest 
and  refreshment  after  her  long  journey,  but  I  hope  we 
shall  prevail  on  her  to  dine  with  us  to-day,  if  she  is  not 
too  much  fatigued and  then,  with  a  slight  inclination 
of  his  head  to  Kate,  he  left  the  room;  and  in^a  few 
moments  a  servant  brought  in  a  tray  with  wine  and 
biscuits,  of  which  Kate  partook  slightly,  but  as  her 
still  pallid  cheek  betrayed  to  her  kind  observer  that 
all  was  not  yet  peace  within,  she  kindly  avoided  enter¬ 
ing  on  any  subject  which  might  agitate  or  distress  her. 
and  very  soon  proposed  a  visit  to  the  play-room,  where 
she  said,  “  I  dare  say  we  shall  find  all  my  children, 
for  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you.  Miss  Sinclair,  we  have  of 
late  had  little  use  for  our  study,  as  for  some  months 
past  I  have  been  advised  to  give  my  little  girls  their 
entire  freedom ;  they  suffered  severely  in  the  summer 
from  a  sad  fever,  and  have  in  consequence  been  very 
weak,  but  they  are  now  quite  recovered,  and  as  they 
possess  much  docility  of  disposition,  I  trust  they  will 
repay  your  kind  care  and  attention.”  On  entering  the 
play-room  two  very  attractive-looking  little  girls  came 
forward  to  greet  their  mamma,  who  told  them  she  had 
brought  them  a  new  friend  who  had  kindly  undertaken 
to  instruct  them,  and  who  would,  she  had  no  doubt, 
soon  win  their  affection  ;  the  children  held  out  their 
iittle  hands  to  Kate,  and  received  her  with  that  frank 
good  breeding  which  is  always  found  in  children  who 
nave  been  well  educated. 


156 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


Henrietta,  the  eldest,  was  a  beautiful  little  girl  of 
about  ten,  tall  of  her  age,  and  elegant  in  her  carriage 
and  movements ;  whilst  little  Gertrude,  who  was  two 
years  younger,  still  retained  an  almost  babylike  appear¬ 
ance,  and  was  as  fair  and  sunshiny  a  creature  as  could 
well  be  imagined — the  idol  of  her  father,  and  perhaps 
a  little  more  petted  and  indulged  by  him  than  was  de¬ 
sirable.  A  neat  young  woman  was  seated  by  a  table 
at  work.  She  rose,  however,  on  Lady  Beauchamp’s  en 
trance,  and  curtsying  respectfully,  left  the  room.  Lady 
Beauchamp  presently  said,  “  And  where  is  nurse,  Hen¬ 
rietta?  for  I  see  you  have  had  Bennet  sitting  with 
you  ?  is  she  gone  to  the  nursery  with  Alice  ?” 

“  Yes,  dear  mamma,  for  poor  Ally  cried  and  looked 
so  tired  that  nurse  said  she  required  rest,  and  they  left 
us  about  half  an  hour  ago.” 

“Ah,  Miss  Sinclair,”  lady  Beauchamp  said,  “1 
must  interest  you  for  my  poor  little  sick  girl,  and  en¬ 
treat  you  to  bear  with  patience  all  her  little  fancies, 
for  she  is  in  a  sad  state  of  suffering.  But  you  must  be 
tired  now,  and  perhaps  you  will  prefer  waiting  to  bo 
introduced  to  her  till  to-morrow.” 

Kate  said  she  wished  much  to  see  the  dear  little 
child  immediately,  and  assured  lady  Beauchamp  that 
it  would  give  her  real  pleasure  to  use  her  best  ef¬ 
forts  to  cheer  and  amuse  her. 

Lady  Beauchamp  then  led  the  way  to  the  nursery, 
which  was  adjoining  the  play-room,  and  as  she  entered, 
she  said  in  a  soft  gentle  tone,  “  Alice,  darling,  I  have 
brought  a  kind  young  lady  to  see  you,  sha'l  she  come 
and  sit  by  you?’* 


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151 


**  Is  she  a  pretty  lady,  mamma,  and  will  she  speak 
gently  to  me  as  you  do  V’ 

<<  Why  you  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  love,  if 
you  like  to  sec  her.^^ 

Kate  now  quietly  approached  the  poor  child,  who 
looked  up  with  eager,  anxious  eyes,  to  scan  the  features 
of  the  stranger,  who  was,  she  felt  assured,  h  er  sisters’ 
new  governess.  Kate’s  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she 
contemplated  the  little  suffering  being  before  her.  On 
a  sort  of  bed-chair  which  moved  on  large  and  easily- 
rolling  castors,  extended  at  full  length  and  white  as 
marble,  lay  the  little  girl,  for  whom  her  kindly  sympa¬ 
thies  had  been  demanded,  and  by  her  side,  anxious 
to  forestall  her  every  wish,  and  obey  every  look,  stood  a 
respectable-looking  nurse,  whose  pitying  eves  seldom 
wandered  from  her  helpless  charge.  Long  and  ear¬ 
nestly  poor  Alice  gazed  upon  Kate’s  countenance,  then 
holding  out  one  little  thin  hand,  she  said,  Come  close 
by  me,  for  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  you  very  much.” 

Kate  gladly  obeyed  this  summons,  and  taking  the 
little  hand  she  kissed  it  so  tenderly,  so  gently,  that 
again  the  child  repeated,  “  Oh,  I  am  sure  I  shall  like 
you,  and  I  will  try  to  be  good  and  then  you  will  stay 
with  me,  won’t  you  ? — ^but  tell  me  your  name.” 

My  name  is  Kate,  and  I  already  feel  that  I  shall 
love  you  very  dearly  and  kneeling  by  her  couch  she 
kissed  the  little  pallid  face  and  gently  stroked  her 
hands,  while  Lady  Beauchamp  was  thankfully  observ¬ 
ing  the  deep  interest  which  her  poor  child  had  already 
excited  in  the  heart  of  her  young  companion,  and  men¬ 
tally  indulging  a  hope,  that  by  judicious  care  and  man¬ 
agement  even  yet  the  life  of  the  little  Alice  might  be 


I 


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spared  and  her  health  restored.  In  a  few  mtments  she 
said,  “  And  now,  my  dear  Alice,  you  will  let  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair  leave  you,  as  I  am  sure  she  must  be  fatigued,  for 
she  has  travelled  a  long  distance  to-day,  and  she  will 
come  and  see  you  again  to-morrow.” 

“  Oh,  dear  mamma,  I  cannot  spare  her  ;  and  I  must 
call  her  Kate : — may  I  ?”  she  asked  in  such  a  touching 
tone  that  Kate’s  lip  quivered  as'she  said,  “  Oh  yes,  dear 
child,  pray  do,  and  remember  I  shall  never  allow  you 
to  call  me  by  any  other  name.”  x\nd  now  with  an  af¬ 
fectionate  kiss  she  left  her,  and  followed  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ,  who  told  her  as  they  passed  along  the  gallery 
which  led  from  the  children’s'  apartments,  that  this 
poor  child  had  two  years  before  injured  her  back,  and 
that  she  had  never  recovered,  but  that,  though  still  a 
sad  sulFerer,  she  was  assured  by  her  physician  that  the 
case  was  not  a  hopeless  one,  and  that  she  might  and 
probably  would  ultimately  recover,  if  she  could  be  in¬ 
duced  to  submit  to  the  needful  restraint  and  discipline  ; 
and  gladly  did  Kate  promise  to  devote  her  leisure  to 
the  poor  little  invalid.  Lady  Beauchamp  now  turned 
into  a  comfortable  and  nicely-arranged  room,  which  she 
told  Kate  would  be  hers,  and  that  she  would  find  a 
small  sitting-room  within,  which  would  also  be  at  her 
disposal;  then,  looking  at  her  watch,  she  said,  ‘‘But  it 
is  quite  time  to  prepare  for  dinner,  and  when  you  re¬ 
quire  assistance.  Miss  Sinclair,  Bennett  will  attend  you” 
— and  with  a  kind  smile  she  left  the  room. 

On  finding  herself  alone  Kate’s  first  impulse  was 
to  throw  herself  into  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  to  give 
vent  in  a  sudden  fiood  of  tears  to  the  mingled  feelings 
which  oppressed  her.  For  a  few  moments  she  wept 


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without  restraintj  but  as  she  began  to  regain  her  com¬ 
posure  what  a  tide  of  tender  recollections  rushed  through 
her  mind,  bringing  before  her  in  rapid  succession  the 
events  of  the  last  long  day : — the  breakfast  in  that 
strange  old  room,  with  the  chilling  sensations  of  early 
winter  morning  j  her  mother’s  sweet  anxious  face  and 
scarcely-restrained  tears ;  her  father’s  assumed  cheer¬ 
fulness,  which  his  trembling  hand  and  sudden  start  so 
entirely  defeated  ;  the  children’s  sorrowing  looks  ;  and 
then,  dear  Charles — oh  !  still  she  feels  the  pressure  of 
his  loving  arm  round  her  slender  waist,  and  hears  again 
his  whispered  words  of  hope  and  comfort ;  poor  Honor, 
too,  with  her  loud  and  eloquent  lament,  and  the  bless¬ 
ing  invoked  from  Ilivin  upon  her  dare  sweet  inno¬ 
cent  head  then  came  the  hurried  drive  to  the  station — 
the  ringing  bell — the  shrieking  engine^the  hasty  adieu, 
and  then  the  sudden  starting  of  the  train,  leaving  her 
in  doubt  whether  she  had  shaken  hands  at  parting  with 
poor  Charles,  whose  tearful  eyes  betray  that  his  boyish 
heart  refuses  to  obey  his  manhood’s  pride  : — soon  she 
had  lost  sight  of  the  beloved  faces,  and  then  followed 
dreamy  recollection^  of  sweeping  rapidly  along,  of  soon 
passing  another  station,  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  some 
people  whom  she  feU  «ure  were  the  Daltons,  and  with 
them  little  Fido,  and  this  imagination  occupied  some 
little  time  but  was  never  satisfactorily  solved.  How¬ 
ever,  it  was  a  pleasure  even  to  think  of  having  seen  the 
“  dear  little  pet,”  and  as  the  sorrowful  reminiscences 
began  to  yield  to  more  cheering  visions  she  dwelt  with 
much  pleasure  on  the  beauties  of  the  park  and  grounds 
by  which  she  had  arrived  at  her  destination,  and  above 


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all  she  recalled  with  feelings  of  real  gratitude  th  ^ind 
reception  with  which  her  new  friends  had  greeted  ler. 

At  length  she  roused  herself  from  the  reverie  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  and  having  hastily  arranged  her 
dress  in  a  few  minutes  was  ready  to  join  Lady  Beau- 
champ  in  the  drawing-room.  As  she  crossed  the  hall 
the  footman  whom  she  had  first  seen  met  her  but  did 
not  turn  to  open  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  for  her, 
and  she  felt  that  this  little  slight  was  intended  to  re¬ 
mind  her  of  her  position  in  the  family.  For  a  moment 
her  sensitive  nature  shrunk  from  the  implied  insult  and 
a  sudden  glow  suffused  her  cheek,  but  in  a  moment 
she  condemned  the  pride  of  heart  which  had  induced  it, 
and  mentally  resolved  to  strive  against  a  feeling  which 
must  have  its  origin  in  evil. 

She  found  Sir  Edmund  and  Lady  Beauchamp  in  a 
room  which  was  called  the  small  drawing-room,  in  which, 
when  alone,  they  usually  passed  their  evenings.  A 
grand  piano  and  beautiful  harp,  with  other  musical  in¬ 
struments,  gave  promise  to  Kate  of  an  indulgence  which 
for  some  time  she  had  been  denied,  and  it  was  with  real 
delight  that  she  heard  Lady  Beauchamp  say  they  were 
both  passionately  fond  of  music.  “  And  you  play.  Miss 
Sinclair  ?  indeed  I  am  told  you  are’  quite  a  proficient.” 

“  Oh,  indeed,”  said  Kate,  “  I  must  assure  you  I  de¬ 
serve  no  such  distinction,  though  I  must  admit  that  I 
have  always  been  devotedly  fond  of  music,  and  as  my 
father  is  himself  very  musical  he  was  anxious  that  my 
taste  should  be  early  cultivated,  and  hitherto  music  has 
been  our  greatest  pleasure,  but,”  she  added,  ‘‘  it  is  long 
since  I  touched  a  piano,  and  I  fear  I  am  sadly  in  need 
of  practice  now.” 


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“  Wellj  my  dear  Miss  Sinclair,”  Sir  Edmund  good- 
humoredly,  said,  “  we  shall  have  great  pleas  ure  in 
giving  you  an  opportunity  of  recalling  your  skill,  and  I 
hope  we  shall  have  a  little  agreeable  music  to  cheer  us 
in  the  evening.” 

Dinner  was  now  announced,  and  they  proceeded  to 
the  dining-room.  Here  Kate  was  much  struck  with 
the  elegant  simplicity  of  all  the  arrangements,  and 
quite  charmed  with  the  easy  refined  manners  of  her 
new  friends.  During  the  time  the  servants  remained 
in  the  room  the  conversation  was  of  rather  a  desultory 
character ;  Lady  Beauchamp,  however,  soon  reminded 
Kate,  that  she  must  not  forget  her  good  intentions,  and 
that  she  did  not  mean  to  excuse  the  promised  practice ; 
after  which  she  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  they  were  shortly  afterwards  joined  by  Sir  Ed¬ 
mund,  who,  almost  immediately,  proposed  that  Lady 
Beauchamp  should  play  one  of  his  favorite  §-irs ;  this 
she  did,  and  Kate,  delighted  with  the  brilliancy  of  her 
execution,  felt  a  shrinking  fear  least  her  own  style  of 
playing  should  not  prove  satisfactory  to  her  auditors, 
so  that  it  was  with  a  beating  heart  and  trembling  fin¬ 
gers  that  she  took  her  seat  at  the  instrument,  and  at 
Lady  Beauchamp’s  recjucst,  began  to  play  one  of  Men¬ 
delssohn’s  exquisite  ‘‘Songs  without 'words,”  but  timid 
as  she  was,  her  love  for  music  prevailed,  and  absorbed 
in  the  beauties  of  the  composition  before  her,  she  for¬ 
got  all  other  feelings,  and  when  she  ceased  she  was 
most  warmly  applauded  by  her  delighted  auditors. 
Kate’s  musical  attainments  were  of  no  common  order, 
and  her  pure  and  genuine  taste  which  enabled  her  to 
embody,  as  it  were,  the  e~ery  feelings  of  the  composer, 


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102 

produced  an  effect  which  none  but  a  highly  cultivated 
ear  could  appreciate,  though  all  must  admi:  e ;  the  ex¬ 
treme  beauty  of  her  hands,  and  the  grace  which  ani¬ 
mated  them,  added  much  to  the  charm  of  her  perform¬ 
ance,  and  her  speaking  eye  and  ever- varying  counte¬ 
nance  engaged  the  sympathy  and  interest  of  all  around 
lier  .  she  possessed  also  a  most  flexible  and  beautiful  na¬ 
tural  voice,  and  at  Lady  Beauchamp’s  request  she  sang 
that  exquisite  song  of  Mozart’s,  “  Dove  sono  i  bei  Mo¬ 
ment”  with  such  elegant  pathos  and  tenderness,  that 
her  success  was  complete,  and  Sir  Edmund,  who  was 
a  devoted  admirer  of  Mozart,  drew  near  her,  and  ex¬ 
pressed  in  the  warmest  terms  his  gratification  at  find 
ing  that  she  was  not  so  spoiled  by  the  modern  style  of 
music  as  to  discard  his  favorite  composer  ;  “  And  I  am 
sure,”  said  he,  “  the  charming  manner  in  which  you  have 
just  sung,  is  sufficient  proof  that  Mozart  is  fully  appre¬ 
ciated  and  admired  by  you.” 

This  Kate  readily  admitted,  and  said  that  to  her  fa¬ 
ther  she  was  chiefly  indebted  for  the  development  and 
direction  of  her  taste  in  music,  and  that  having  himself 
a  decided  bias  in  favor  of  Mozart  and  Beethoven,  he 
had  been  very  desirous  that  his  children  should  culti¬ 
vate  a  taste  for  their  compositions. 

Quite  right,  quite  right,”  Sir  Edmund  replied,  “  I 
icjoice  to  hear  that  you  have  been  so  judiciously  direct¬ 
ed.  I  am,  I  confess,  no  great  admirer  of  the  present 
school  of  music.” 

This  led  to  an  animated  discussion  in  which  Lady 
Beauchamp  defended  with  some  warmth  the  merits  of 
“  Schulofl’,”  Mendelssohn,  and  even  Auber,  but  at  this 
name,  Sir  Edmund  rather  impatiently  interrupted  her, 


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163 


and  said,  “  Depend  upon  it,  Gertrude,  ^itb  your  good 
taste,  you  will  tire  of  these  composers,  and  lay  them 
aside  long  before  the  world  in  general  ceases  to  admire 
them,  for  you  are  too  sincere  a  lover  of  good  sound 
music  to  be  long  satisfied  with  any  of  the  compositions 
you  have  named,  though,  remember,  I  am  far  from  deny¬ 
ing  that  they  possess  great  merit,  but  in  my  opinion  the 
works  of  Mozart,  Haydn,  and  Beethoven  will  maintain 
their  pre-eminence,  in  the  estimation  of  musicians,  as 
those  of  Shakespeare  ever  must  among  the  lovers  of 
true  poetry  ; — but  I  must  not  bore  Miss  Sinclair  with 
my,  perhaps,  rather  antiquated  ideas.” 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted,  for,  to 
Kate’s  great  surprise,  a  sweet  musical  chime  was  heard 
in  the  hall  which  continued  for  about  five  minutes,  and 
Lady  Beauchamp  told  her  that  this  was  their  usual 
mode  of  summoning  the  household  to  their  evening  de¬ 
votions,  and  that  the  old  clock  from  whence  these 
sounds  proceeded  had  been  in  their  family  many  years, 
and  had  never  been  used  for  any  other  than  the  pre¬ 
sent  purpose. 

A  servant  now  entered,  and  holding  open  the  door 
for  them,  the  party  passed  into  the  hall,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  a  deeply-recessed  oriel  window,  which  was 
fitted  up  as  a  sort  of  oratory  ;  the  steps  leading  into  it 
were  covered  with  crimson  cloth  as  was  also  the  floor 
of  the  recess  ;  in  the  centre  was  placed  a  desk  with  a 
fald  stool  before  it,  and  with  an  open  book  upon  it,  at 
each  side  of  which  was  a  silver  branch  with  candles. 
Kneeling-stools  occupied  the  sides  of  the  room,  and  by 
day  the  whole  was  concealed  by  the  heavy  folds  of  a 
crimson  curtain.  The  domestics  were  all  assembled, 


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for  it  was  an  established  rule  that  none  should  absent 
themselves  without  permission  ;  and  Sir  Edmund  him¬ 
self  conducted  the  prayers  of  his  household  witL  much 
fervent  piety  and  devotion. 

In  a  few  days  Kate  was  regularly  installed  in  her 
new  office,  and  with  written  rules  for  herself  and  her 
pupils,  everything  went  on  with  the  utmost  regularity, 
but  as  Lady  Beauchamp  had  requested  her  not  to  al¬ 
low  the  children  to  pursue  their  studies  too  closely  at 
first,  Kate  found  that  she  had  more  leisure  than  she 
could  have  anticipated,  and  she  was  delighted  to  de¬ 
vote  a  large  portion  of  it  to  the  pleasure  of  soothing 
and  comforting  the  little  Alice,  who  became  daily  and 
hourly  more  attached  to  her.  Seated  close  by  her 
couch,  with  her  little  thin  hand  closely  clasped  within 
her  own,  Kate  would  lead  the  little  creature  to  open 
all  her  heart  in  conversation,  answering  her  in  the 
most  simple  language,  and  ever  seeking  to  teach  her 
the  gentle  lesson  of  patience  and  confiding  trust  in  her 
heavenly  Father.  At  times,  poor  little  Alice  was  sadly 
irritable,  and  Kate  occasionally  found  both  herself  and 
the  nurse  in  tears,  and  then  the  child  would  say  in  her 
sweet,  touching  voice,  Oh,  Kate,  you  will  not  love  me, 
nobody  will  love  me^for  I  am  so  very,  very  naughty  ; 
but  pray,  tell  poor  nurse  that  I  am  sorry  now,  for  do 
you  know,  Kate,  I  tried  to  strike  her  just  now  for 
hurting  me  when  she  placed  my  pillows,  and  yet  she 
was  not  careless  but  very  gentle  with  me,  and  now  I 
am  so  vexed.’*  And  then  nurse  was  recalled,  and  Kate 
tried  to  induce  the  little  girl  herself  to  confess  her 
fault.  It  was  not,  however,  at  all  times  that  Alice  waa 
disposed  to  be  so  amiable,  and  she  required  much  per- 


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guasion  before  she  would  admit  that  she  was  wrong ; 
her  kind  monitress  would  then  gently,  but  earnestly, 
explain  to  her  the  sinfulness  of  pride  and  passion,  and 
lead  her  by  degrees  to  real  patience.  After  any  of 
these  scenes  she  would  put  her  little  arm  round  Kate’s 
neck,  and  pressing  her  cheek  close  to  hers,  would  say, 
“  Grod  will  bless  you^  dear  Kate,  for  you  are  so  goud  ; 
oh,  I  will  try  to  learn  of  And  Kate,  in  gentle 

whispers,  would  answer,  “  Not  of  me^  dearest  child,  not 
of  me^  but  of  Him  who  was  ‘  meek  and  lowly  of  heart,’ 
and  then  my  darling  Alice  will  find  yeace^  And  the 
little  suifering  child  was  hushed,  and  with  humble  con¬ 
trite  looks  would  promise  to  be  good  and  gentle. 

For  some  days  after  Kate’s  arrival  at  Granby,  the 
weather  had  been  so  cold  and  wet,  with  driving  sleet 
and  snow,  that  she  and  her  little  pupils  had  been  en¬ 
tirely  confined  to  the  house.  A  bright,  frosty  morning 
now  tempted  her  to  lay  aside  the  books  and  prepare  for 
a  long  walk  ;  the  children,  delighted  at  the  prospect 
of  emancipation  from  their  lessons,  were  in  joyous 
spirits,  and  immediately  proposed  that  they  should 
walk  to  Granby,  and  show  Kate  the  pretty  village 
and  church,  which  she  had  not  yet  seen.  All  were  soon 
equipped  in  their  warm,  comfortable  walking  dresses, 
and  the  little  girls,  each  taking  a  hand  of  their  kind 
young  governess,  proceeded  through  a  shrubbery  path 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  which  winding  round  the 
hill  soon  led  them  to  a  point  where  the  village,  with 
its  pretty  church,  could  be  seen  in  the  valley  before 
them  at  the  distance  of  about  a  mile,  surrounded  by 
well-watered  meadows,  and  thickly  wooded  hedge  rows  j 
but  as  Xleurietta  observed,  this  was  the  worst  season 


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of  the  year  for  seeing  the  country,  though  when  spring 
comes,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  delighted  with  this  spot, 
and  I  hope  we  shall  often  come  here.  And  do  you 
know,”  she  added,  we  often  used  to  bring  poor  Alice 
here,  and  make  pretty  garlands  and  wreaths  of  wild 
flowers  to  amuse  her.”  Some  few  moments  they  lin¬ 
gered,  but  finding  it  very  cold,  they  soon  ran  down 
the  slope  which  led  to  the  village  path,  and  pursued  their 
way  across  some  fields,  through  which  a  small  but  ra¬ 
pid  stream  found  its  way  over  shallow  pebbly  bedsj 
making  sweet  music  in  its  onward  course,  and  now 
overhung  with  shrubs  and  alders,  from  whose  lower 
branches  pendant  icicles  were  glittering  in  the  sun¬ 
shine  ;  the  ground  was  hard  and  the  little  herbage 
which  remained  was  white  with  hoarfrost,  and  crisply 
crumpled  beneath  the  feet  of  the  children,  who  with  • 
rosy  laughing  faces,  were  amusing  themselves  by  run¬ 
ning  races  in  advance  of  Kate,  who  felt  half  disposed 
to  join  in  their  diversion ;  every  tree  was  feathered 
with  sparkling  gems  of  hoarfrost,  which  reflected  back 
a  thousand  brilliant  colors  in  the  sunlight,  and  now 
they  arrived  at  the  last  stile,  on  each  side  of  which 
the  villagers  had  formed  a  sort  of  seat  overshadowed 
in  summer  by  hawthorn  and  other  shrubs,  which 
formed  a  natural  arch  above  it,  and  from  hence  could  be 
seen  the  village  green  with  its  pretty  schoolhouse,  and 
a  little  in  the  distance,  the  church,  with  its  picturesque 
grey  tower  covered  with  ivy.  As  they  approach  this 
spot  the  clock  strikes  twelve,  and  while  for' a  moment 
they  pause  to  listen  to  its  sound,  the  door  of  the  school- 
house  opens,  and  forth  rush  the  village  children,  who 
with  boisterous  glee  disperse  themselves  in  picturesque 


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groups  and  complete  the  beauties  of  the  simple 
scene. 

^‘NoWj  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  you  must  come  and  see 
Mr.  Elliott’s  house,  it  is  so  verj'-  pretty,  and  in  such  a 
lovely  situation,  and  he  is  such  a  dear  good  man  that  we 
all  love  him  dearly.” 

Kate,  wno  wished  to  see  as  much  as  possible  of  this 
sweet  place,  readily  complied  with  their  request  and  fol¬ 
lowed  her  little  guides  across  the  green  and  through  a 
narrow  lane,  at  the  end  of  which  they  came  to  a  low 
green  paling  well  backed  by  evergreens,  which  com¬ 
pletely  formed  a  screen  to  the  garden  into  which  through 
a  little  ornamental  gate  they  now  turned ;  following  a 
circuitous  path  through  a  small  shrubbery  they  came 
to  an  ivy-covered  building  with  gable  roofs  and  dormer 
windows,  evidently  of  no  modern  construction.  A 
smooth,  well-kept  lawn  with  rustic  baskets  for  fiowers 
placed  here  and  there  and  skirted  by  the  shrubbery, 
through  which  they  had  just  passed,  occupied  the  space 
in  front  of  this  nice  old  vicarage,  while,  in  the  back 
ground  some  fine  old  elms  lent  a  shade  and  shelter 
from  the  summer  heat ;  but  Kate,  who  had  no  idea  that 
the  children  would  lead  her  within  view  of  the  windows, 
now  insisted  on  immediately  retracing  their  steps, 
though  Henrietta  assured  her  that  they  always  came 
to  see  Dr.  Elliott,  and  that  he  would  be  quite  vexed 
if  they  did  not  go  in.  At  this  moment  the  old  gentle¬ 
man  himself  made  his  appearance  from  a  walk  close 
by  them,  and  holding  out  a  hand  to  each  of  the  children 
said — “  Ah,  my  dear  little  friends  !  I  must  decide  this 
question :  you  are  quite  right  in  thinking  that  I  shall 
be  vexed  if  you  run  away  without  paying  your  usual 


168 


HOME  IS  HOME, 


visit.'*  Then  turning  to  Kate,  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
said,  Pray  indulge  me  by  allowing  my  little  favorites 
to  stay  with  me  a  few  moments.  I  am  sure  you  must 
all  need  rest  after  your  long  walk.” 

.  Having  gained  a  timid  consent  from  Kate,  he  led 
the  way  into  the  house ;  passing  through  a  small  vesti¬ 
bule  they  turned  into  a  study,  the  arrangements  of 
which  quite  delighted  Kate ;  the  walls  were  fitted  up 
with  well-filled  book-shelves ;  a  large  easy  chair  was 
placed  near  the  fire,  and  by  its  side  stood  a  desk-table 
with  a  large  Bible  open  upon  it ;  a  long  table,  covered 
with  books  and  papers,  occupied  the  whole  centre  of  the 
room,  showing  that  this  was  the  old  gentleman’s  usual 
sittiog-room ;  the  windows,  which  had  deep  old  fashioned 
seats,  were  of  stained  glass  in  the  upper  compartments, 
and  as  Kate  took  her  seat  near  one  of  them  she  saw 
that  it  commanded  a  view  of  the  pretty  tower  of  the 
village  church.  The  owner  of  this  comfortable  dwell¬ 
ing  much  interested  Kate,  who  was  struck  by  his  dig¬ 
nified  appearance  and  manner :  he  was  indeed  a  fine 
venerable-looking  person  ;  tall,  though  somewhat  bent 
by  years,  with  hair  of  silver  white,  and  a  countenance 
full  of  benevolence  and  kindly  feeling,  Dr.  Elliott  never 
failed  to  command  the  respect  of  all  who  knew  him ; 
he  now  seated  himself  in  his  large  easy  chair,  and  tak¬ 
ing  little  Gertrude  on  his  knee,  he  pretended  to  scold 
her  for  not  having  been  polite  to  her  friend,  saying, 
“  You  must  introduce  me,  Gertrude,  you  know  mamma 
expects  you  to  do  the  honors  in  her  absence but  Ger¬ 
trude  said,  I  don’t  know  what  you  mean,  Dr.  Elliott ; 
what  is  introduce  ?  and  what  are  honors  ?” — “  Ah, 
little  one  !  Well,  you  have  quite  posed  me  now  ;  well. 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


169 


well,  I  suppose  I  must  ask  this  lady  to  indulge  an  old 
man’s  curiosity,  and  tell  me  who  it  is  that  has  done 
me  the  kindness  of  bringing  my  little  visitors  to  see 
me  to-day 

Kate  blushed,  but  said  “  My  name  is  Sinclair,  and 
I  am  governess  to  these  dear  children.” 

Won  by  her  sweet  voice  and  simple  manner,  Dr. 
Elliott  rose,  and  holding  out  his  hand  said,  “  I  hope 
then  we  shall  be  soon  good  friends,  for  I  must  beg,  my 
dear  young  lady,  that  you  will  as  frequently  as  possible 
allow  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  your  little  pupils, 
and  you  must  remember  that  a  visit  to  a  solitary  old 
man  is  an  act  of  charity.  But  now  let  me  ask,  have 
you  seen  my  church,  and  what  part  of  the  village  have 
you  visited  ?” 

“  Oh,  Dr.  Elliott,”  said  Henrietta,  “  we  only  just 
brought  her  across  the  green,  and  she  has  never  seen  the 
church  or  the  dear  old  poor  house ;  so  now  do  come 
with  us  as  usual,  and  take  us  to  see  blind  William  and 
good  old  Susan  Miles,  come !” 

The  children  each  seized  a  hand  of  their  kind  old 
friend,  who  said,  “  Well,  well,  my  dears,  if  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair  will  accept  my  escort,  nothing  would  please  me  so 
much  as  to  accompany  you  in  your  morning  ramble.” 

Henrietta  flew  to  fetch  his  hat  and  Gertrude  to 
find  his  stick,  and  with  a  kind  smile  he  said,  “  Well, 
you  are  impatient,  I  see,  so  I  must  not  ask  for  a  longer 
visit.” 

Pleasantly  did  they  all  chat  and  laugh  as  they  pur¬ 
sued  *their  path  towards  the  church,  which  was  their 
first  object  of  interest ;  but,  though  very  clean  and  kept 
in  nice  order,  Kate  could  not  but  lament  that  such  a 
8 


no 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


really  beautiful  edilBce  should  be  so  disfigured  by  higii 
pews  and  heavy  galleries ;  and  she  perhaps  a  littlo  dis¬ 
appointed  her  kind  conductor,  who  could  not  see  any 
the  slightest  defect,  so  long  had  he  been  accustomed  to 
consider  his  church  quite  perfection.  But  Kate  was 
no  flatterer,  and  though  she  warmly  commended  the 
picturesque  beauty  of  the  building,  she  was  too  sincere 
to  assume  a  satisfaction  which  she  could  not  feel,  and 
she  was  quite  relieved  when  the  children  impatiently 
reminded  her  that  they  must  proceed  quickly,  as  other¬ 
wise  they  should  not  have  time  to  visit  the  almshouse. 

Crossing  the  lower  side  of  the  green,  they  now  ap¬ 
proached  an  old-fashioned  heavy  gate,  which  adimitted 
them  to  a  small  courtyard,  one  side  of  which  was  occu¬ 
pied  by  a  long  row  of  old  houses  of  the  date  of  Edward 
the  Sixth,  and  having  the  windows  and  pointed  roofs 
of  that  period  ;  one  of  theee  ho>uses  was  appropriated 
to  each  tenant  of  the  almshouse,  and  the  whole  was  kept 
in  the  most  excellent  order  by  Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp, 
who  was  the  Lord  of  the  Manor. 

Standing  at  the  door  of  on<e  of  these  houses  was  an 
old  man,  erect  in  form  and  with  a  sweet  calm  counte¬ 
nance,  his  bright  blue  eyes  appeared  to  beam  upon  the 
approaching  visitors,  and  in  no  way  could  it  have  been 
discovered  that  their  “  sense  was  shut his  dress  was 
a  long  dark  blue  gown,  which  hung  in  ample  folds  from 
his  neck,  round  which  a  spotless  white  kerchief  was 
carefully  adjusted  ;  his  shoes  were  high  on  the  instep, 
and  had  large  silver  buckles  as  fasteners,  and  he  sup¬ 
ported  himself  by  leaning  on  a  large  stick ;  standing 
with  his  white  hairs  uncovered,  he  tu.^ned  on  the  party 
with  a  smik  ^f  welcame. 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


iti 


“Well^  William,  said  Dr.  Elliott,  I  suppose  you 
know  who  are  my  ^ xpanions  to-day?” 

Why  yes,  sir,  I  believe  I  hear  my  two  kind  little 
ladies  ;  but  I  think  I  heard  a  stranger’s  step  besides 
when  you  were  coming  athwart  the  court-yard.” 

“  Yes,  William,  you  are  quite  right,”  said  little  Ger¬ 
trude  ;  “  but  she  will  not  be  a  stranger  long,  she  is 
such  a  dear,  kind  lady.” 

I  shall  be  proud  to  hear  her,  miss ;  but  my  blind¬ 
ness  is  a  sad  privation,  for  I  quite  long  to  see  ye  all.” 

“  Ah,  William,”  said  Dr.  Elliott,  “  the  loss  of  sight 
must  indeed  be  a  sad  trial,  but  you  have  the  blessing 
of  an  enlightened  heart,  and  I  know  and  am  sure,  that 
by  the  aid  of  God’s  Holy  Spirit,  you  have  been  per¬ 
mitted  to  find  a  consolation  which  many  are  denied, 
and  can  with  sincere  faith  confess,  that  the  Lord  hath 
for  you  done  all  things  well.” 

Yes,  sir,  I  thank  the  Lord,  and  your  good  teach¬ 
ing,  I  am  more  happy  and  peaceful  like  than  most 
folks ;  and  I  feel  that  if  my  eyes  are  dark,  why  they 
are  kept  from  beholding  vanity,  and  doubtless  all 
things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  loves  the 
Lord,  and  I  humbly  hope,  sir,  I  may  say  that  my 
greatest  joy  and  comfort  is  found  in  his  service.  But 
can’t  you  please  to  walk  in,  sir  ? 

“  Not  to-day,  William,  not  to-day,  for  I  am  taking 
this  young  lady  to  see  my  village,  and  I  fear  we  have 
not  much  time  to  spare.” 

“  And  make  so  bold,  sir,”  said  William,  “  who  may 
the  young  lady  be,  as  my  dear  little  Miss  Gertrude 
praised  so  well  just  now  ?” 

^  My  nam«  is  Sinclair,”  said  Kate ;  “  and  I  hope. 


172 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


my  good  friend,  you  will  soon  recognise  my  step,  when 
I  come  with  my  dear  little  pujfils  to  visit  yciu.” 

“  Thankee,  miss,  I  am  sure,  if  I  may  trust  my  hear¬ 
ing,  I  shall  not  forget  your  sweet  voice,  and  I  knows 
your  step  already.” 

The  clock  now  striking  one,  reminded  Kate  that  in* 
half-an-hour  they  would  be  expected  at  home,  and  re¬ 
luctantly  she  felt  obliged  to  say  adieu  to  old  William, 
and  telling  Dr.  Elliott  that  they  must  defer  till  another 
time  their  visit  to  old  Susan,  they  shook  hands  with 
much  warmth  and  cordiality  and  parted,  Kate  feeling 
that  in  him  she  had  secured  a  kind  and  valuable  friend. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Time  glided  by  on  the  downy  wings  of  peace  and  tran¬ 
quillity,  filling  Kate’s  heart  with  joy  and  thankfulness. 
She  had  now  passed  several  months  at  Granby  Hall^ 
and  in  the  fulfilment  of  every  appointed  duty  she  found 
each  day  increase  her  happiness ;  loving  and  beloved 
by  all  around  her,  as  yet  no  cloud  had  arisen  to  disturb 
the  sunshine  of  her  heart ;  her  letters  from  home  were 
of  the  most  satisfactory  character,  except  that  they  ex¬ 
pressed  regret  that  no  situsition  could  be  obtained  for 
Charles.  Her  father  had  found  an  excellent  purchaser 
for  some  of  his  best  water-color  drawings,  and  was 
much  cheered  by  the  hope  that  he  should  by  the  aid 
of  his  pencil  be  enabled  to  assist  in  providing  for  the 
comfort  of  his  family.  Her  mother’s  health  was  fast 
improving,  and  the  dear  little  ones  were  well  and 
happy.  From  Miss  Hartop,  too,  Kate  received  most 
satisfactory  letters ;  she  had  left  the  situation  which 
had  been  so  far  from  comfortable,  and  was  residing 
with  a  Mrs.  Marston,  a  widow  lady,  who  had  engaged 
th3  services  of  Miss  Hartop  in  educating  her  two  little 
girls;  and  here  the  kind  Miss  Hartop  had  found  a 
very  pleasant,  quiet  home.  This  information  gave 
Kate  sincere  pleasure,  as  she  had  felt  some  fear  that 


174 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


her  kind  and  generous  friend  had  for  her  sake  relin¬ 
quished  an  engagement  with  L^y  Beauchamp. 

One  evening  when  Kate  was  occupied  in  writing 
answers  to  these  letters,  she  received  a  pencilled  note 
from  Lady  Beauchamp,  requesting  to  see  her  in  the 
drawing-room  ;  on  obeying  the  summons,  she  found  her 
and  Sir  Edmund  standing  in  close  conversation  near 
one  of  the  windows ;  it  was  evident  they  were  discussing 
some  subject  in  which  she  was  interested,  for  on  her 
entrance  a  kindly  smile  from  both  was  directed  towards 
her,  and  Lady  Beauchanap  immediately  advanced  to 
meet  her ;  then  pressing  one  of  Kate’s  hands  in  both 
her  own,  she  said,  “  I  must  be  the  first  to  congratulate 
you,  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  although  I  must  leave  Sir 
Edmund  to  explain  the  cause  of  my  doing  so.”  And 
then  Sir  Edmund,  whose  eye  always  filled  with  the 
ready  tear  of  sympathy,  said,  “  I  am  glad  indeed  to  tell 
you,  my  dear  young  lady^  that  I  have  fortunately  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  gaining  for  your  brother  the  promise  of  a  very 
excellent  appointment,  which  will,  I  trust,  prove  highly 
advantageous,  and  I  hope  agreeable  to  him ;  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  wish  to  be  the  first  to  communicate  to 
him  this  welcome  intelligence.”  Sir  Edmund  paused, 
but,  perceiving  that  surprise  and  pleasure  prevented 
Kate’s  immediate  reply,  he  went  on  to  say,  that  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  his  having  heard  that  her  brother  was  anx¬ 
iously  seeking  for  some  situation,  he  had  made  enqui¬ 
ries  of  their  mutual  friend.  Miss  Hartop,  and  had  heard 
from  her  such  an  excellent  account  of  Charles,  that  he 
had  been  induced  to  write  to  his  old  friend.  Sir  Archi¬ 
bald  Munroe,  requesting  him  to  exert  his  influence  in 
her  brother’s  favor.  “  Some  few  weeks  have  elapsed 


HCME  IS  HOME, 


175 


since  tten he  continued,  ^  and  I  am  sure  my  dear 
Miss  Sinclair  will  believe  that  the  answer  which  I  have 
just  received  has  really  afforded  me  most  sincere  plea¬ 
sure.” 

Kate’s  quivering  lip  and  tearful  eye  spoke  volumes 
of  the  gratitude  which  filled  her  heart,  yet  could  she 
find  no  words  in  which  to  express  her  thanks,  and  all 
unused  to  guile  or  ceremony  she  clasped  the  hands  of 
both  her  kind  friends,  and  looking  into  Sir  Edmund’s 
face  with  childlike  simplicity,  she  uttered  a  ferment 
God  bless  you.”  The  gentle  pressure  of  her  soft  hands 
was  returned  with  even  affectionate  kindness,  and  her 
tears  were  understood  and  received  as  more  than  suffi¬ 
cient  acknowledgment  of  the  kind  act  which  had  excit¬ 
ed  them,  but  in  a  moment  Sir  Edmund  said  in  a  cheer¬ 
ful  tone,  “  Well,  then,  we  will  consider  that  as  a  . settled 
affair,  for  I  conclude  I  may  accept  Sir  Archibald’s  kind 
offer  for  your  brother.  What  say  you,  can  you  venture 
to  decide  for  him  in  his  absence 

“  Oh  yes,  yes.  Sir  Edmund,  he  will  be  only  too  thank¬ 
ful  J  am  sure.  And  if  you  approve  it  I  should  like  to 
v/rite  to  him  directly  and  tell  him  of  your  kindness 
and  his  own  good  fortune.” 

Do  so,  then,  and  tell  him  from  me  that  I  should 
advise  him  to  see  Sir  Archibald  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  offer  his  thanks  to  him  in  person,  and  if  you 
will  prepare  your  letter  I  will  give  you  a  note  of 
introduction  to  inclose.  Now  then,  for  an  hour  of 
writing,  and  then,  remember,  I  shall  expect  to  hear  a 
little  of  my  favorite  Mozart.”  As  the  door  closed  upon 
Kate’s  receding  footsteps.  Sir  Edmund  said,  “What  a 
charming  naive  creature  that  is ;  I  think  I  never  met 


l76  HOME  IS  HOME. 

with  a  more  gentle  and  attractive  person  in  my  life,  yet 
withal  it  is  a  firm  and  noble  character,  and  she  is  supe¬ 
rior  to  most  of  her  sex  I  think.’* 

Gently,  gently^  my  good  sir !  remember  ladies  do 
not  bear  a  rival  near  the  throne  ; — but  seriously  speak- 
ing,  I  quite  agree  with  you — she  is  a  sweet  girl,  and  my 
heart  warms  towards  her  more  each  hour,  indeed  I 
already  love  her  almost  as  I  should  an  elder  daugh¬ 
ter.” 

“  Or  sis/er,  dearest  Gertrude,  for  she  is  very  much 
what  a  sister  of  yours  would  be ;  but  now  let  me  ask  you 
a  question.  I  am  going  to  write  to  Sir  Archibald, 
shall  I  inclose  a  note  for  Henry  Carleton,  and  remind 
him  of  his  promise  to  come  and  see  us  ?  he  has  now  so 
particular  an  interest  in  this  neighborhood,  I  should 
think  Jie  must  wish  to  come  and  look  about  him  a 
little  ;  what  say  you,  shall  I  ask  him  ?” 

“  0  yes,  certainly,”  said  lady  Beauchamp,  “  you 
know  he  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine,  and  by  the  way,  if 
you  have  no  objection  I  should  like  to  ask  Isabel  and 
Julia  at  the  same  time,  and  I  will  write  to  them  di¬ 
rectly,  for  I  am  sure  they  will  be  delighted  to 
come.” 

“  Well  then,  so  let  it  be,  but  I  must  forewarn  you, 
my  dear  Gertrude,  all  speculjjtions  in  that  quarter  will 
I  am  sure  be  unavailing.  I  am  certain  Isabel  went 
too  far  in  her  attentions  to  Mr.  Carleton,  when  he  was 
last  here,  and  I  plainly  perceived  he  entertained  no 
particular  penchant  for  her.  However,  I  shall  leave 
all  that  to  your  own  discretion,  and  now,  if  you  please, 
we  will  prepare  our  letters.” 

It  was  to  Sir  Edmund  a  subject  of  some  chagrin, 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


177 


that  these  young  ladies  were  to  be  invited  to  meet  his 
young  friend  Carle  ton,  as  they  were  never  favorites  with 
him,  though  as  the  children  of  lady  Beauchamp’s  sister 
he  could  not  of  course  object  to  her  wish  of  receiv¬ 
ing  them  at  his  house ;  he  solaced  himself,  however, 
by  writing  a  most  pressing  invitation  to  Henry  Carle- 
ton,  to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  and  who  had,  in 
consequence  of  his  friendship  for  Sir  Edmund,  recently 
purchased  the  advowson  of  the  living  of  Granby. 

Soon  after  these  letters  were  completed,  Kate  re¬ 
turned  to  enjoy  the  promised  hour  of  music,  and  never 
did  she  feel  so  desirous  to  please  her  kind  and  at¬ 
tentive  auditors,  though  her  mind  was  filled  with  the 
thoughts  of  home,  and  all ‘its  dear  associations.  She 
longed  to  know  how  her  dear  parents  and  Charles, 
would  be  affected  by  the  news  which  she  had  just  con¬ 
veyed  to  them,  and  as  the  thoughts  passed  her  mind, 
she  mentally  excMmed,  Oh,  that  some  kindly  fairy 
would  bring  me  a  magic  mirror  in  which,  like  Elfrida 
of  old,  I  might  witness  the  joy  of  my  dear  ones  when 
they  receive  my  welcome  letter.” 


CHArTJER  XVII. 


But  although  no  answering  fay  brought  to  Kate’s 
longing  eyes  the  wished-for  mirror,”  and  she  must 
trust  to  memory  alone  for  the  imagined  semblance  of 
those  she  loves,  we  will  take  the  liberty  of  once  more 
transporting  ourselves  into  the  presence  of  the  beloved 
ones  she  so  longed  to  see,  and  by  following  the  post¬ 
man  who  is  rapidly  approaching  their  door  I  doubt  not 
we  shall  gain  admission  to  their  family  circle  ;  not  that 
he  will  so  far  intrude  himself,  and  we  must  seek  another 
guide  ere  we  shall  reach  our  wished-for  destination. 
His  loud  knock  now  echoes  through  the  street,  and  at 
the  well-known  sound  little  Maggie’s  “  ‘  saft  blue  e’en  ’ 
come  peering  forth  to  see  gin  he’s  brought  a  letter  for 
Miss  M(rffat,”  and  as  the  postman  turns  away  from  the 
door  she  rushes  hastily  into  the  room  of  her  mistress 
and  says,  “  ’Deed  then  here’s  a  sight  for  sair  een,  for 
here’s  a  letter  for  Maister  Charles  frae  sweet  Miss 
Kate,  an’  I’m  thinking  he’ll  be  amaist  beside  his  sel’ 
wi’  joy ;  shall  I  call  Honor?  or  may  I  tak  it  to  him 
mysel’  ? — oh  do  let  me.” 

“  Yes,  yes,  Maggie,  rin  awa’,  an’  gin  ye  can  do  it  wi’- 
out  offending,  bide  a  wee  an’  speer  how  the  dearest  of 
young  leddies  is  in  her  health  noo,  but  dinna  be  owr 
that  curious,  and  dinna  bide  lang,  hinny.” 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


179 


Witli  breathless  speed  little  Maggie  mounted  the 
long  flights  of  stairs,  and  soon,  with  her  young  hands 
trembling  with  delight,  she  stands  before  the  assembled 
party  in  the  studio,  still  the  favorite  sitting-room  of 
the  Sinclairs,  and  now  presenting  a  beautiful  picture  of 
domestic  home-like  comfort,  Mr.  Sinclair  is  seated 
before  his  easel,  on  which  rests  a  lovely  landscape, 
nearly  completed,  and  Maggie’s  stolen  glance  presents 
to  her  eye  a  group  of  cattle  standing  at  eventide  by 
the  brink  of  a  limpid  stream  of  water,  which,  as  she 
thinks,  “  makes  one  thirsty  only  to  look  upon  it 
beautiful  trees  too,  are  there,  and  distant  hills  lighted 
up  by  the  red  glow  of  sunset,  and  Maggie,  mentally 
ejaculates,  “  ’Deed  then,  them  cows  is  muckle  weel  aff, 
I’m  thinking,  to  hae  sic  9,  nice  cool  shade  upon  siccen 
a  het  evening!”  Near  the  easel  stands  little  Emily 
watching  her  father’s  progress  with  no  small  interest, 
as  in  her  a  taste  for  his  delightful  art  has  strongly  de¬ 
veloped  itself.  Mrs,  Sinclair  is  occupied  in  listening 
to  little  Rosy,  who,  in  subdued  tones,  is  repeating  a 
French  lesson,  and  Charles  is  seated  at  a  table  writ¬ 
ing.  All  are  busy,  and  all  look  well  and  happy.  A 
moment  the  child  paused  to  look  upon  this  tranquil 
scene,  and  then  she  hastily  turned  to  Charles,  and  put 
into  his  hand  the  letter  from  his  sister. 

Little  Maggie  waited  for  a  few  moments,  hoping  to  * 
make  the  inquiries  which  Miss  Moffat  had  suggested, 
but  Charles’  sudden  start  from  his  seat  as  soon  as  ho 
had  read  the  first  line,  excited  the  interest  of  all  the 
party,  and  the  little  girl  was  hastily  dismissed,  when, 
shutting  the  door,  he  announced  to  his  parents  with 
breathless  delight  the  contents  of  Kate’s  letter.  And 


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iow,  dear  kind  father,  I  shall  no  longer  remain  to 
burthen  you  with  my  maintenance,  but  shall,  I  trust, 
be  able  to  assist  in  removing  some  of  your  difficulties 
and  privations.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy,  so  truly  thank¬ 
ful  P’ 

With  a  voice  somewhat  inarticulate  from  emotion^ 
his  father  warmly  congratulated  him,  but  his  mother’s 
tears  alone  spoke  her  tender  sympathy  in  his  happi¬ 
ness  ;  other  thoughts,  too,  crowded  upon  her  heart,  as 
she  feels  that  one  by  one  the  children  she  has  so  idol¬ 
ized  are  removed  from  the  home  of  their  parents. 

After  the  first  feelings  had  somewhat  subsided  Mr. 
Sinclair  advised  Charles  to  seek  Sir  Archibald  Mun- 
roe  as  soon  as  possible,  as  it  would  be  right  to  lose 
no  time  in  availing  himself  of  Sir  Edmund’s  kind  note 
of  introduction,  and  Charles  went  immediately  to  pre¬ 
pare  for  his  visit.  While  he  was  thus  engaged  his 
father  and  mother  conversed  with  much  interest  on 
the  subject  of  his  bright  prospects,  and  dwelt  also  with 
real  pleasure  on  the  comforting  assurances  which  Kate^ 
had  given  them  of  her  own  happiness,  acknowledging 
with  all  the  pride  of  fond  parents  the  advantages  which 
all  had  derived  from  her  sweet  and  amiable  character 
and  conduct. 

When  Charles  returned  to  receive  his  father’s  final 
instructions,  relating  to  his  approaching  interview  with 
his  new  patron,  his  whole  appearance  was  such  as  to 
justify  the  hope  that  the  first  impression  which  would 
be  conveyed  might  be  a  favorable  one.  Charles  was  a 
fine  handsome  lad  of  about  seventeen,  tall  and  well- 
formed,  with  a  sparkling  blue  eye  that  spoke  of  a  fine 
generous  disposition  and  kind  heart  within;  gentle- 


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181 


manly  in  dress,  and  with  a  disengaged  and  easy  though 
not  presuming  manner  he  was  a  favorite  with  all  who 
knew  him. 

After  a  few  parting  words  of  advice  Charles  de¬ 
parted  on  his  interesting  errand.  On  the  stairs  he  met 
Maggie,  and  in  amends  for  his  hasty  dismissal  of  her 
in  the  morning  he  spares  one  of  his  precious  minutes 
to  speak  a  kind  word  to  the  gentle  child,  and  comforts 
her  little  heart  by  telling  her  that  her  “  dear  Miss 
Kate  is  well  ”  and  has  sent  some  good  news,  and 
then  he  makes  up  for  his  loss  of  time  by  springing  down 
the  last  six  steps  of  the  long  staircase ;  but  here  ano¬ 
ther  hindrance  arose,  for  he  must  tell  good  Miss  Moffat 
the  joyful  intelligence  which  had  reached  him,  knowing, 
as  he  said,  that  she  would  be  so  pleased.”  And  no 
one  could  doubt  the  sincerity  with  which  she  uttered 
her  simple  assurance  that  “  ’Deed,  sir,  ye  do  me  nae  mair 
than  justice  ;  I  am  varra  glad  to  hear  ye  hae  sae  muckle 
cause  to  be  thankfu’,  an’  I  truly  wish  ye  joy  and  happi¬ 
ness  in  yer  new  vocation  whatsoever  it  may  be.”  Once 
more  Charles  prepared  to  depart,  but  his  cup  of  con¬ 
gratulation  was  not  yet  full :  at  the  door  he  met  poor 
Honor,  who  as  usual  had  been  “  detained”  at  the  green¬ 
grocer’s  and  was  yet  to  learn  the  events  of  the  morning. 
On  seeing  Charles  prepared  for  some  unusual  occasion 
she  exclaimed,  Och,  thin,  masther  Charles,  sir,  what 
has  happened  since  I  left  ye,  for  I  see  something  new 
has  chanced,  and  may  be  ye  are  going  to  see  my 
darlint  Miss  Kate,  or  perhaps  yer  going  to  fetch  her 
home  ?” 

No,  no,  my  good  Honor,  not  so  ;  but  somethiiig  as 
jon  say  has  ‘  chanced,’  and  wo  have  received  good  news 


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from  my  sister and  then  he  briefly  explained  to  the 
kind-hearted  girl  that  his  own  future  prospects  had  be 
come  bright  and  promising. 

And  thank  Grod  for  that  same,  my  dear  young 
masther !  long  may  you  live  to  enjoy  them,  and  may 
the  Hivins  niver  cease  to  shower  down  tlie  best  of  bless¬ 
ings  upon  yer  head  !  May  the  sun  of  yer  happiness 
never  set,  and  may  the  saints  in  glory  be  about  yer 
bed  !- — and  will  yer  lave  us  entirely,  Masther  Charles, 
as  my  poor  deaii  Miss  Kate  did 

“  Oh,  no.  Honor,  I  shall  live  in  London  and  sbidl 
often  come  and  see  you  all’* 

“  Thanks  be  to  God  for  that  same  ! — but  I  musn’t 
be  yer  hindrance  any  longer,  and  my  lady  will  be  wait¬ 
ing  for  me,  let  alone  Miss  Rose  and  Miss  Emily  that  I 
promised  to  take  out  a  walking  wid  me.” 

At  last  Charles  steps  forth  into  the  street,  and 
swinging  his  little  cane  in  his  hand,  he  seems  to  tread 
on  air,  so  buoyant  is  his  heart,  so  exhiliarated  are  his 
spirits,  but  it  is  a  long  distance  to  that  part  of  town  in 
which  Sir  Archibald  resides,  and  he  gladly  avails  him¬ 
self  of  the  first  sound  of  “  Cab,  sir  and  finds  him¬ 
self  whirled  through  the  streets  at  dangerous  speed,  so 
that  long  before  he  has  settled  in  his  mind  what  had 
better  be  his  form  of  address,  and  has  scarcely  prevail¬ 
ed  upon  himself  to  believe  that  his  note  of  introduction 
is  safe,  though  he  has  nervously  ascertained  that  fact 
by  taking  it  ten  times  from  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  he  is  still  in  that  sort  of  flurry  of  spirits  which 
such  stirring  events  generally  produce  upon  young  and 
sanguine  minds  when  the  sudden  pull  up  of  the  car¬ 
riage,  which  jerks  him  to  the  end  of  the  seat,  announces 


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183 


that  he  has  arrived  at  his  destinatioDj  the  driver  de¬ 
scends  from  his  box,  and  running  or  rather  wadling  up 
the  steps  gives  a  thundering  knock  at  the  door  and 
pulls  the  bell  as  if  some  mesmerist  had  just  put  his 
organ  of  destructiveness  in  full  operation.  Charles  tried 
in  vain  to  make  him  come  back  and  open  the  door  of  the 
oab  for  him  that  he  might  retrieve  this  awkward  mistake, 
for  he  had  been  expressly  advised  by  his  father  to  walk 
the  latter  part  of  his  little  journey,  and  quietly  to 
announce  his  arrival  at  the  house  ;  however  it  was  too 
late  to  recollect  all  this,  for  there  stands  the  cabman 
quite  satisfied  that  all  is  right,’*  and  it  was  not  till  the 
door  was  opened  by  the  porter  that  he  returned  to 
release  his  prisoner.  Charles  bounded  up  the  steps, 
and,  to  his  enquiry  “  whether  Sir  Archibald  was  at 
home,”  received  a  more  civil  reply,  that  he  was,  than  he 
could  under  the  circumstances  have  expected.  A  tall 
and  well-powdered  lacquey  led  the  way  through  a  hall  of 
unusual  dimensions  and  along  a  suite  of  rooms  of  almost 
Eastern  magnificence  and  then  throwing  open  the  last 
door  of  the  suite,  which  opened  into  an  elegant  morning 
room,  he  announced  “  Mr.  Charles  Sinclair,”  but  on 
seeing  that  the  only  occupant  of  the  room  was  a  young 
man  of  about  seven  or  eight  and  twenty  he  said,  “  Can 
you  tell  me,  sir,  where  to  find  Sir  Archibald?”  and 
was  answered  that  he  was  gone  to  his  dressing-room, 
upon  which  the  man  withdrew  and  silently  closed  the 
door  when  Charles  found  himself  alone  with  the  stranger, 
who  immediately  rising  and  laying  aside  the  book  with 
which  he  had  previously  been  occupied  walked  towards 
Charles,  and  meeting  his  half  bashful  look  with  an  an¬ 
swering  ^e  of  kind  and  gentlemanly  sympathy  offered 


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him  a  seat,  and  taking  one  himself  neav  him  entered 
into  conversation  with  that  air  of  frank  good  humor 
which  belongs  exclusively  to  a  really  well-bred  man, 
and  before  which  all  Charles’  mauvaise  honte  instantly 
vanished,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  engaged  in 
a  really  animated  conversation,  in  the  midst  of  which 
they  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Sir  Archibald 
himself  He  was  rather  below  the  middle  height  and 
in  no  way  remarkable  for  any  particular  feature  ex 
cept  a  pair  of  piercing  eyes  of  extraordinary  bright¬ 
ness  for  a  man  of  his  age,  for  he  was  at  least  sixty, 
and  his  complexion  showed  that  at  some  period  of  his 
life  he  must  have  been  much  exposed  to  the  trying  in¬ 
fluence  of  a  hot  climate.  His  dress  and  bearing  were 
those  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  he  advanced  towards 
Charles  with  a  kind  air  which  much  relieved  his  em¬ 
barrassment. 

Sir  Archibald  said,  “  I  conclude  I  am  now  address¬ 
ing  the  young  friend  of  Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp  ?”  to 
which  Charles,  with  an  assenting  bow,  replied,  I  am  in¬ 
debted  to  the  kindness  of  Sir  Edmund  for  an  introduc¬ 
tion  to  you.  Sir  Archibald,  but  T  am  sorry  to  say  I  am" 
as  yet  personally  unknown  to  him.”  and  taking  the 
treasured  note  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  saying, 
This,  I  believe,  will  explain  my  circumstances  better 
than  I  can  myself,”  he  placed  it  in  the  hands  of  his 
patron  ;  while  he  was  engaged  in  reading  its  contents, 
Charles  stole  an  observing  glance  at  his  younger  com¬ 
panion:  on  the  arrival  of  Sir  Archibald,  Charles  had 
placed  himself  with  his  back  to  the  window,  and  as  the 
young  man  sat  immediately  opposite  to  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  which,  covered  with  books  and  news* 


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185 


papers,  occupied  the  space  between  them,  the  light  fell 
full  upon  his  face,  and  Charles  thought  he  had  never 
seen  a  more  classical  or  beautiful  head  and  bust :  his 
dark  hair  curled  in  graceful  waves  upon  his  brow,  and 
his  soft  yet  brilliant  black  eyes  seemed  beaming  with 
every  bright  intelligence  and  virtue ;  his  complexion 
was  rather  dark,  but  by  no  means  sallow,  and  his  well- 
formed  mouth  was  expressive  of  the  kindest  feeling, 
while  an  ever-varying  expression  betrayed  every  emo 
tion  of  his  mind ;  he  sat  watching  the  countenance  of 
Sir  Archibald  and  seemed  much  interested  in  trying  to 
read  his  thoughts  as  he  perused  the  note  which  Charles 
had  brought,  and  was  evidently  not  at  all  aware  of  the 
impression  he  had  made  on  the  mind  of  the  young  vi¬ 
sitor.  As  soon  as  Sir  Archibald  had  finished  reading 
he  placed  the  note  on  the  table  by  his  side,  and  resting 
one  finger  on  it  he  turned  to  Charles  and  said,  with  a 
slightly  changed  manner  and  the  quick  tone  in  which 
he  always  spoke,  So  young  gentleman,  your  sister  is 
Lady  Beauchamp’s  governess  I  find,  and  Sir  Edmund 
tells  me  that  the  interest  which  they  felt  in  her  induced 
the  application  to  me  for  your  appointment  to  some  lu¬ 
crative  and  honorable  situation,  but  that  you  are  at 
present  a  stranger  to  him.” 

Poor  Charles  !  his  alarm  was  very  great,  but  he  sum¬ 
moned  courage  and  tried  to  speak  with  becoming  mo¬ 
desty,  yet  with  firmness,  while  he  said,  This  is  quite 
true,  Sir  Archibald,  and  it  was  not  till  two  hours  ago  I 
learnt  that  Sir  Edmund  had  so  kindly,  so  benevolently 
^  interested  himself  for  me ;  I  am  indeed  truly  grateful 
to  him,  not  only  for  the  kindness  which  he  has  shown 
but  for  his  consilera tion  for  my  dear  sister.” 


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Yery  well,  very  well,  I  like  that,  young  sir,  and  I 
doubt  not  I  shall  find  reason  to  be  quite  satisfied  with 
all  that  he  has  done,  but  before  I  give  you  your  creden¬ 
tials  for  entering  on  your  new  office,  I  am  desirous  to 
know  a  little  more  of  my  protege ;  will  you  then,  if  not 
unpleasant  to  you,  tell  me  something  of  your  present 
circumstances,  for  it  appears  that  ^our  sister  inust  be 
somewhat  out  of  her  proper  sphere.  Don’t  go. 
Carle  ton,"’  he  said,  as  he  saw  the  young  man  rise  with 
the  apparent  intention  of  leaving  the  room,  “  Don’t 
go  away,  unless  Mr.  Charles  wishes  to  be  alone  with 
me.” 

“  0  no,  not  at  all,  I  beg  you  will  not  move  ;  my 
story,  at  least  so  much  of  it  as  relates  to  myself  and 
my  sister,  is  no  secret ;  my  father  is  an  officer,  and  my 
mother  was  of  a  good  family  in  Ireland,  and  w'?  have 
until  the  last  six  months  been  living  in  affluence :  pe¬ 
cuniary  losses  have  changed  our  circumstances,  and  my 
dear  good  sister  has  considered  it  a  duty  to  seek  some 
means  of  assisting  her  family,  and  in  Lady  Beauchamp 
she  has  found  a  most  kind  and  considerate  patroness  ; 
she  isj  as  you  say.  Sir  Archibald,  the  governess  to  Sir 
Edmund’s  children,  at  present^^  he  murmured  in  a  low 
tone,  which  was  not  lost  upon  either  of  his  hearers. 

‘‘  I  thank  you,  sir,”  said  Sir  Archibald,  ‘‘  for  your 
candor  and  openness,  and  I  feel  much  interested  in 
your  account,  which  you  have  given  in  a  manly, 
straightforward  manner,  and  I  shall  no  longer  keep 
you  in  any  anxiety  as  to  my  intentions,  but  shall,  with 
•great  pleasure,  give  you  your  introduction  to  the  office, 
which  has  bsen  promised  to  you  through  Sir  Edmund.” 

Charles  hastily  rose,  and  bowing,  said,  Allow  m© 


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187 


to  thank  you.  Sir  Archibald,  most  sincerely  for  your 
kind  consideration,  which,  I  can  assure  you,  has  excited 
in  me  more  gratitude  than  I  can  find  words  to  express.*’ 

“  Sit  down,  my  dear  sir,  sit  down,  you  and  I  must 
become  better  acquainted,  and  I  must  now  do,  what  I 
have  been  remiss  in  omitting,  and  introduce  you  to 
Mr.  ^Darleton,  who  is  very  soon  going  to  pay  a  visit  to 
Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp,  and  as  I  have  a  paper  to 
prepare  for  you,  I  will  leave  you  with  him  till  I 
return.” 

So  saying.  Sir  Archibald  left  the  room,  and  Mr, 
Carleton  and  Charles  resumed  a  nearer  position  to 
each  other,  and  again  entered  into  conversation,  in  the 
course  of  which,  Charles  learnt  that  his  new  acquaint¬ 
ance  had  just  returned  from  the  continent,  where  he 
had  been  travelling  for  the  last  year,  and  also,  that  he 
intended  going  to  Granby  Hall,  in  a  few  days,  and  he 
kindly  said,  “  And  pray  remember  that  I  shall  have 
great  pleasure  in  taking  anything  for  your  sister  that 
you  may  like  to  entrust  to  my  care.”  Charles,  with 
some  hesitation,  admitted  that  he  wished  much  to  send 
a  little  book  which  Kate  had  greatly  valued,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  it  should  be  sent  to  Mr.  Carleton,  on  the 
following  day.  In  a  few  more  mome|^ts.  Sir  Archibald 
returned,  and  giving  Charles  his  letter  of  appointment, 
and  another  paper  containing  some  instructions,  he  re¬ 
ceived  his  parting  bow,  and  Mr.  Carleton  kindly  follow¬ 
ing  him  to  the  door  of  the  room,  shook  hands  with  him 
and  telling  him  not  to  forget  to  send  “  the  little  book,” 
they  parted,  and  Charles  with  a  light  heart  turned  his 
steps  towards  honie,  thankful  that  he  carried  with  him 
the  conviction  that  he  had  not  left  an  unfavorable  im 


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pression  on  the  mind  of  his  patron,  and  feeling  all  the 
warmth  of  *a  young  and  ardent  boy  excited  in  his  heart 
towards  the  charming  young  man  who  had  been  so  very 
kind  in  his  manner  to  him. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home  he  related  all  that  had 
occurred  to  his  father  and  mother,  who  both  listened  to 
his  account  with  the  deepest  interest  and  pleasurSJ  and 
after  a  great  deal  of  discussion  of  various  plans,  it 
was  settled  that  a  small  lodging  for  Charles  should  im¬ 
mediately  be  secured  in  the  vicinity  of  the  office  in 
which  his  attendance  would  be  required.  In  the  few 
days  which  intervened  before  Charles  entered  on  his 
new  duties,  he  endeavored  to  assist  his  father  in  making 
arrangements  for  the  sale  of  some  more  of  his  draw¬ 
ings  ;  the  first  two  that  had  been  so  advantageously 
sold  had  been  sent  to  Mr.  Dalton,  and  he  had  very 
soon  found  a  good  purchaser  in  the  eccentric  Mr.  Cros¬ 
by,  but  as  he  had  particularly  requested  that  his  name 
might  not  transpire  in  the  affair,  it  was  still  unknown 
to  Mr.  Sinclair,  and  it  was  now  proposed  that  Mr. 
Dalton  should  be  asked  whether  he  thought  he  could 
dispose  of  any  more ;  for  this  purpose  Charles  himself 
proceeded  to  Mr.  Dalton’s  shop,  and  finding  him  alone 
he  asked  him  if  could  receive  and  take  charge  of  the 
drawings  in  question,  when  to  his  great  surprise  he  was 
told  that  as  many  as  Mr.  Sinclair  could  find  leisure  to 
complete  would  be  gladly  purchased  by  the  gentleman 
who  had  taken  the  first  pair.  While  Charles  was  in 
the  shop,  his  sister’s  little  dog  came  to  recognize  and 
caress  him,  and  while  he  was  fondling  it,  he  saw  ap¬ 
proaching  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  the 
elderly  gentleman  who  had  travelled  with  him  in  the 


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189 


omnibus  the  evening  he  came  from  the  Hunters,  and 
in  another  moment  Mr.  Crosby  entered  the  shop ;  on 
seeing  Charles,  he  was  evidently  inclined  to  make 
good  his  retreat,  but  as  he  could  not  find  an  excuse  for 
such  a  change  of  purpose,  he  advanced  towards  him  and 
said,  Are  you  come  to  reclaim  that  little  dog,  hey  ? 
I  hope  not,  foolish  things  those  Italian  greyhounds, 
very  foolish  things.” 

Charles  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile,  but  said  in 
his  usual  straightforward  manner,  “No,  sir,  I  am  not 
?ome  to  fetch  poor  Fido,  I  wish  I  was.” 

“  Wish  you  were,  why  ?  what  can  you  want  of  such 
a  useless  little  animal,  no  good  to  anybody,  what  would 
you  do  with  it  if  you  had  it,  eh  ?” 

“  Oh,  I  should  like  to  keep  it  for  my  sister’s  sake  if 
I  could?” 

“  Your  sister’' s  sake !  what  has  happened  to  your 
sister,  where  is  she  ?” 

Mr.  Crosby’s  tone  was  now  so  changed  that  no  one 
could  have  believed  it  proceeded  from  the  same  person 
as  he  who  in  gruff  accents  had  first  accosted  Charles, 
and  it  was  evident  that  be  believed  some  sad  event  had 
occurred  since  he  had  last  heard  of  Miss  Sinclair,  but 
Charles  soon  told  him  of  his  sister’s  absence  and  its 
cause,  and  then  seeing  that  his  attention  was  kindly 
awakened,  he  informed  him  with  all  the  ingenuous 
warmth  of  his  character,  that  he  was  just  going  himself 
“  into  the  Secretary  of  State’s  office,”  upon  which  piece 
of  good  fortune,  Mr.  Crosby  contrived  to  congratulate 
him  with  some  show  of  civility,  but  he  hastily  departed, 
leaving  Charles  wondering  and  amazed  at  his  strange 
manner,  for  he  scowled  as  he  went  away  as  if  ashamed 


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190 

of  having  been  betrayed  into  an  ordinary  pcJiteness. 
When  he  was  gone,  Mr.  Dalton  said,  “  That’s  a  strange 
character,  sir,  he  is  always  trying  to  induce  the  belief 
that  he  is  a  hard,  morose  man,  whiler  in  reality  his 
heart  is  overflowing  with  the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
and  he  does  more  benevolent  acts  than  any  one  I  ever 
met  with,^’ 

Charles  said  that  he  did  appear  a  “  strange  com¬ 
pound”  and  that,  little  as  he  had  seen  of  him,  he  had 
discerned  that  his  cross  manner  was  evidently  foreign 
to  his  nature.  Charles  staid  a  few  moments  to  play 
with  Fido,  and  said,  Oh,  my  poor  little  fellow,  you 
have  found  a  nice  comfortable  home,  but  I  hope  some 
day  you  will  follow  your  dear  pretty  young  mistress 
again,”  upon  which  Mr.  Dalton  said  that  he  “  Hoped 
Miss  Sinclair  was  well,  and  that  he  should  indeed  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  restoring  little  Fido  to  his  owner, 
but  that  they  should  all  be  sorry  to  part  from  him.” 

On  his  way  home  Charles  met  the  Hunters’  gay  car¬ 
riage  ;  Mrs.  Hunter  and  Flora  were  in  it,  and  Spencer 
was  on  the  box  with  the  coachman,  but  he  did  not  ap 
pear  to  recognize  Charles,  and  all  the  party  seemed 
equally  disposed  to  forget  him,  except  Flora,,  who  nod¬ 
ded  kindly  as  she  passed,  and  looked  very  bright  and 
very  pretty.  It  was  but  a  glance  that  he  had  of  her, 
and  he  sighed  as  he  thought  of  the  wordly  character  of 
her  parents,  and  felt  that  the  bar  of  pride  was  placed 
between  him  and  his  former  favorite  playfellow,  as  in 
his  mind  he  still  designated  Flora. 


CHAPTER  XVIIl. 


The  day  after  Lady  Beauchamp  had  despatched  her 
letter  to  the  Miss  Waldegraves,  when  Kate  went  to 
take  her  place  by  the  couch  of  little  Alice,  and  to  re¬ 
lease  her  poor  nurse  for  a  short  time  from  her  close 
and  unceasing  attendance  upon  her,  she  found  the  little 
girl  BO  much  better  and  stronger  than  usual,  that  she 
called  her  sisters  to  come  and  assist  in  amusing  her, 
and  allowed  them  to  converse  more  freely  than  they 
generally  did.  This  was,  to  Alice,  a  great  pleasure,  and 
she,  became  quite  animated  and  happy,  till  after  some 
time  Henrietta  said,  Ally,  we  are  going  to  have  some 
visitors,  guess  who  they  are.” 

“  No,  Etta,  you  know  I  hate  guessing,”  said  Alice, 
so  now  tell  me  at  once;  come  now,  I  declare  it’s  very 
teazing  of  you.” 

“Well,”  Etta  said,  “you  need  not  be  so  pettish, 
dear  Alice,  and  now  I  do  not  think  I  will  tell  you  at 
all,” 

Kate  turned  on  Henrietta  a  reproachful  glance, 
which  instantly  recalled  the  little  girl  to  a  sense  of 
the  unkind  tone  in  which  she  had  spoken  to  her  little 
feeble  sister,  and  stooping  down  she  kissed  her  little 
wan  cheek,  and  whispered  that  she  hoped  she  had  not 
toazed  her. 


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“  0  no,  dear,  not  at  all,  but  now  do  tell  me  who  are 
the  visitors  of  whom  you  spoke  7” 

Well  then,  Ally,  what  think  you  of  our  cousins 
Isabel  and  Julia  having  been  invited  again,  but  I  am 
not  sure  they  will  really  come.” 

“  Oh,  Etta,”  said  Alice,  and  she  began  to  cry,  “  I 
am  so  very  much  disappointed,  I  really  did  hope  some 
nice  little  girls  were  coming,  and  now  I  hear  only  that 
those  two  proud  disagreeable  cousins  are  to  come,  and 
nurse  will  be  so  vexed,  for  she  says  they  treat  her  so 
very  unkindly  when  they  are  here,  and  so  differently 
from  the  way  in  which  dear  mamma  and  Kate  do,  that 
she  dislikes  them  very  much,  indeed.” 

“Well,  but  Ally  dear,”  said  little  Gertrude,  “  per¬ 
haps  they  may  be  improved,  for  you  know  we  used  to 
be  proud  sometimes,  till  mamma,  and  dear  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair,  taught  us  that  it  was  sinful.” 

“  JVb !  Gertrude,”  passionately  exclaimed  Alice, 
“  they  are  much  too  old  to  be  taught  now,  even  by  dear 
Kate,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  hate  them.” 

“  My  dear  little  girl,”  said  Kate,  “  you  must  not 
hate  any  one,  and  you  know  if  we  really  think  people 
act  sinfully,  we  should  be  sorry  for  them,  and  pray 
that  they  may  be  forgiven.” 

“  Well  then,  my  own  dear  sweet  Kate,”  said  Alice, 
“  1  never  will  hate  even  my  cousins  unless  they  are 
pro.ud  and  unkind  to  you,’^^ 

This  little  conversation  excited  in  Kate  some  anx¬ 
iety  as  to  the  arrival  of  the  Miss  Waldegraves,  and  she 
could  not  help  fearing  that  she  should  not  be  so  happy 
and  comfortable  as  she  had  hitherto  been,  and  when 
Lady  Beauchamp  anaounced  that  her  invitation  had 


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L93 


been  accepted  and  that  she  expected  them  the  next  day 
Kate  thought  that  she  would  for  a  few  days  seclude 
herself  as  much  as  possible  in  her  own  apartments. 
Mr.  Carleton’s  answer  to  Sir  Edmund  had.  not  yet  ar¬ 
rived,  and  the  subject  of  his  expected  visit  not  having 
been  mentioned  no  one  in  the  house  knew  that  they  had 
been  invited. 

The  following  day  Kate  and  the  two  little  girls  were 
standing  in  the  hall  prepared  for  their  daily  walk  when 
the  sudden  sound  of  a  carriage,  followed  by  a  ring  of  the 
bell,  announced  the  arrival  of  visitors.  In  a  moment 
the  door  was  opened  and  two  fashionably-dressed  girls, 
followed  by  a  smart  lady’s  maid  carrying  cloaks  and 
shawls,  entered  the  hall.  . 

‘‘  Oh,  dear,  Miss  Sinclair,”  Henrietta  said,  “  here  are 
our  cousins,  I  did  not  think  they  could  have  been  here 
so  soon  and  both  the  children  went  forward  to  meet 
them. 

“Well, my  dear  little  girls,”  Isabella  began,  “how 
are  you  and  how  is  my  aunt  ?  dear  me,  how  wonderfully 
you  are  grown  !  I  declare,  Henrietta,  you  will  soon  be 
as  tall  as  Julia  ;”  and  stooping  down  she  kissed  them 
both.  “Well,  and  where  is  my  aunt?— Oh,  in  the 
library,  is  she  ?  come  then,  let  us  go  and  find  her ;” 
then  raising  her  glass,  and  speaking  in  an  under  tone, 
she  said,  “  Who’s  that,  Etta  ?  any  one  I  know  ?  I  am 
so  shockingly  blind  I  do  not  know  any  one.” 

“  No,  np,  Isabel,  I  am  sure  you  do  not  know  her,  so 
come but  seeing  that  the  child  earnestly  wished  to 
divert  their  attention  the  sisters  chose  to  look  round 
the  hall,  each  requiring  the  aid  of  an  eyeglass,  and  con¬ 
triving  to  iri3lude  Kate  in  the  general  survey  in  a  maU' 
9 


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ner  which  evidently  called  the  color  to  her  cheek,  and 
then  drawing  themselves  np  and  folding  their  shawls 
gracefully  round  their  really  fine  figures,  they  proceeded 
towards  the  door  of  the  library  followed  by  Henrietta, 
who  was  old  enough  to  understand  and  blush  for  their 
haughty  bearing  and  impertinent  manner. 

From  Lady  Beauchamp  they  received  a  cordial  andl 
kind  greeting,  for  she  had  always  been  much  attached  to 
these  girls  for  her  sister’s  sake,  and  though  she  saw  and 
pitied  their  numerous  faults  she  thought  time  would 
improve  them,  and  she  felt  a  kind  desire  to  place  in 
their  >v^ay  any  advantage  which  she  had  it  in  her  power 
to  bestow.  In  her  heart  slie  really  hoped  that  their 
rich  young  friend  Mr.  Carleton  might  take  a  fancy  to 
Isabel,  who  was  a  fine  showy  girl  of  about  nineteeii. 
Julia  was  still  very  young  and  had  only  just  left  school, 
but  from  her  sister  she  had  already  learnt  and  adopted 
a  supercilious  manner  which  induced  their  dependants 
to  give  them  the  soubric^uet  of  “  the  haughty  sisters.’^ 

Lady  Beauchamp  had  risen  from  her  seat,  near  her 
writing-table,  when  her  nieces  and  Henrietta  came  in, 
and  she  now  walked  towards  the  window,  followed  by 
the  girls.  Here  they  all  stood,  talking  a  few  moments 
on  the  fineness  of  the  day  and  other  general  topics, 
but  Isabel’s  curiosity  had  been  much  excited  by  Kate’s 
sweet  countenance  and  appearance,  and  she  longed  to 
know  whether  she  was  a  visitor  in  the  house,  so  turn¬ 
ing  suddenly  to  her  little  cousin,  she  said,  “  Eh  bien 
ma  petite  Henrietta,  and  who  is  your  new  friend  that  I 
saw  with  you  in  the  hall 

“  Oh,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp,  I  eonclade  it  waa 
Miss  Sinclair,  was  it  not,  Henrietta?” 


Home  Is  HoMiJ. 


10S 


Yes,  mamma,  and  I  fear  she  is  waiting  for  me,  as 
We  are  just  going  to  take  a  walk,  so,  if  you  if  please,  I 
will  go  now  and  join  her.  Good  bye  and  nodding  ^ 
to  her  cousins,  she  withdrew. 

“  Is  that  your  new  gorerness,  auntie  ?”  said  Julia. 

Yes,  my  dear,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp,  and  a  de¬ 
lightful  person  she  is,  I  assure  you.” 

Ah^yes^I  dare  say,”  drawled  Isabel,  “  a  nice- 
looking  young  person ;  I  thought — indeed,  I  almost 
took  her  for  a  young  lady,  did  not  you,  Julia?” 

“  Why,  yes,  I  think  I  did--^at  first-^but  every  body 
dresses  so  much  aboVe  their  station,  that  really  it  is  dif^ 
ficult  to  decide  who  are  people  of  consequence  in  these 
days.” 

With  complacent  looks  she  readjusted  her  shawlj 
giving  it  as  fashionable  an  air  as  she  could  ;~her  aunt 
smiled  at  her  folly,  and  was  half  inclined  to  defend  hev 
favorite,  but  she  thought  she  might,  perhaps,  induce  a 
feeling  of  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  her  nieces,  if  she 
appeared  too  much  interested  in  Kate,  she,  therefore, 
let  it  pass,  and  in  another  moment  Isabel  said,  “  Well, 
but  dearest  aunt,  you  have  not  told  us  what  was  the 
great  secret  at  which  you  hinted  in  your  letter,  and  I 
assure  you  it  excited  my  curiosity  so  greatly,  that  I 
made  Neville  stay  up  all  night  to  prepare  our  dresses 
and  things  that  we  might  come  by  the  express  train  this 
morning,  so  now,  pray  tell  us,  who  is  coming,  for  I  am 
sure  it'must  be  some  delightful  person*” 

‘‘  No,  no,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp,  I  shall  not  tell 
you  one  word  more  at  present,  indeed,  I  fear  you  will 
be  disappointed,  for  I  know,  at  all  events,  we  shall  see 
no  one  to-day 


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Oh,  now,  do  not  Untalize  us,  dear  auntie,  pray  tell 
us,  for  I  urn  d^ung  with  curiosity.” 

“Well,  I  fear  you  v/ill  think  me  very  cruel,”  said 
Lady  Beauchamp,  “  but  I  shall  only  say  you  must  waiv 
a  little  while  ere  I  shall  disclose  my  grand  secret,  as 
you  call  it ;  but  come,  you  will  like  to  go  to  your  rooms 
and  rest  a  little  — and  she  led  the  way  to  the  sleeping 
apartments. 

Kate’s  first  meeting  with  the  Miss  Waldegraves  had 
not  tended  to  remove  the  impression  which,  from  the 
children’s  report  of  them,  she  had  been  induced  to 
form,  and  during  her  short  walk,  she  determined 
withdraw  herself  as  much  as  possible  from  collision 
with  these  young  ladies,  but  on  her  return  she  found 
a  little  note  on  her  dressing-table  from  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ,  in  which  she  said,  “  My  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  you 
will,  I  hope,  join  us  as  usual  in  the  drawing-room  this 
evening,  as  although  you  have  declined  doing  so  when 
We  have  a  party  of  friends,  I  am  really  desirous  that 
you  should  meet  my  nieoes.-^Ever  yours,  G.  L.  Beau 
champ.” 

The  note  was  twisted  and  curled  into  a  variety  of 
shapes,  while  Kate  stood  looking  out  upon  the  lawn 
from  her  window.  No,  thought  she,  I  will  not,  I  can¬ 
not  expose  myself  to  the  supercilious  SLiveillance  of 
these  visitors ;  and  she  recalled,  with  a  painful 
feeling,  the  glances  which  she  had  met  in  the  morning 
from  which  she  had  shrunk  with  a  sense  of  humiliation  « 
— but  am  I  right  to  foster  these  feelings,  which  must 
proceed  from  that  pride  which  is,  alas  !  my  besetting 
sin''  and  then  Lady  Beauchamp  and  kind  Sir  Edmund, 


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will  they  permit  me  to  be  treated  with  hauteur  in  their 
presence?  oh  no,  I  am  sure  they  will  not. 

In  this  way  Kate  mused  till  the  declining  sun 
warned  her  that  time  was  passing,  and  that  she  must 
come  to  a  decision.  This  was  the  first  ordeal  her  pride 
had  undergone,  for  as  Lady  Beauchamp  had  said,  she  had 
ever  declined  appearing  when  any  strangers  were  pre¬ 
sent,  and  she  had  been  treated  with  such*  kind  consi¬ 
deration  by  Sir  Edmund  and  his  lady,  that  no  one  had 
ever  ventured  to  show  any  mark  of  dis/espect.  At 
length  the  little  struggle  ended,  and  she  decided  that 
as  Lady  Beauchamp  had  so  kindly  proposed  it,  she  would 
no  longer  hesitate  but  do  her  best  to  restrain  any  feel¬ 
ing  of  vexation  which  might  be  aroused  by  the  conduo^ 
of  the  Miss  Waldegraves, 

At  the  hour  when  she  usually  made  her  appearanu 
in  the  drawing-rojm,  she  joined  the  party  assembled 
;?here.  Her  dress  on  this  evening  was  a  very  simple 
white  muslin,  closed  at  the  throat,  with  pale  blue 
ribbons,  and  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  sash  of  the  same 
color,  but  the  clear  transparent  folds  only  partially 
concealed  the  dazzlingly  white  neck  and  throat  which 
they  covered ;  ornaments  she  had  none,  except  a  very 
small  Maltese  chain  of  gold  and  bracelets  to  correspond ; 
her  hands,  which  were  most  delicately  formed,  were 
uncovered,  and  her  hair  was  simply  and  beautifully 
arranged,  and  as  she  glided  into  the  room,  nothing 
could  exceed  the  ladylike  and  aristocratic  elegance  of 
her  appearance. 

Sir  Edmund  was  standing  with  a  music-book  in  his 
hand,  as  if  engaged  in  finding  some  song  for  one  of  his 
nieces,  who  both  stood  near  him,  and  Lady  Beauchamp 


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was  seated  at  the  harp.  As  Kate  approached  the  group, 
Sir  Edmund  said,  “  Oh,  Miss  Sinclair,  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  come ; — Isabel,  Julia,  allow  me  to  introduce  you 
to  Miss  Sinclair.” 

Both  young  ladies  drew  themselves  to  their  full 
height  and  bestowed,  as  Kate  thought,  a  slighting  curt¬ 
sey  with  a  sort  of  half*  muttered  word  or  two,  but  of 
what  import  did  not  appear,  and  having  so  far  compro¬ 
mised  their  dignity,  they  set  their  flounced  dresses  in 
full  swing  and  turned  their  backs  upon  poor  Kate — this, 
however,  might  be  only  intended  to  display  to  her  won¬ 
dering  gaze  the  extent  of  the  beautiful  shoulders  which 
their  foshionable  dresses  developed — and  then,  with  the 
aid  of  their  glasses  they  pretended  to  be  looking  over 
some  prints  which  were  placed  upon  the  table.  Despite 
all  Kate^s  good  resolutions  this  manner,  so  new  to  her, 
so  different  from  anything  which  had  ever  before  been 
shown  towards  her,  completely  unnerved  her,  and  she 
felt  so  constrained,  so  awkwardly  bashful,  that  she 
scarcely  knew  what  course  to  pursue,  and  to  increase 
her  confusion,  the  Miss  Waldegraves,  with  well-assumed 
liveliness  and  affectionate  interest,  approached  their 
dear  Attnt,”  and  standing  in  front  of  her  harp  talked 
in  a  most  animated  manner  to  her  upon  subjects  which 
entirely  excluded  Kate  from  even  a  chance  of  joining 
in  the  conversation.  Sir  Edmund  saw  and  pitied  his 
young  favorite’s  unpleasant  reception,  and  by  talking 
kindly  to  her  sought  to  obviate  its  painful  effects,  but 
Kate  felt  that  she  was  de  trop^  and  experienced  all  the 
shrinking  timidity  which  such  conduct  always  brings 
upon  a  young  and  sensitive  mind.  Music  was  now  pro¬ 
posed,  and  the  Miss  Waldegraves  monopolized  the  in- 


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199 


gtrument  which  seemed  t :  quail  under  the  infliction,  and 
Sir  Edmund  winced  at  the  thundering  blows  which  it 
received,  while  Lady  Beauchamp  applauded  and  told 
Isabel  that  she  had  acquired  a  very  effective  style 
since  she  last  heard  her  play,  but,”  she  added,  “  I  shall 
not  let  you  be  idle  this  evening,  Miss  Sinclair ;  come 
pray  find  some  of  our  favorite  airs,  and  T  will  accom¬ 
pany  you.” 

Kate  blushed,  and  felt  angry  with  herself  for  blush¬ 
ing,  but  she  resolved  to  try  to  play  as  usual,  and  took 
iier  seat ;  but  as  it  was  only  the  governess,”  the  Miss 
Waldegraves  seated  themselves  at  the  table  and  busied 
themselves  with  a  novel,  consequently  a  thick  sea  fog  • 
seemed  to  envelope  poor  Kate — she  felt  that  she  could . 
not  play  to  such  unwilling  hearers,  and  never  had  she 
appeared  to  so  much  disadvantage ;  apparently,  how¬ 
ever,  this  was  of  small  importance,  as  Isabel  and  her 
sister  affected  to  be  engrossed  in  their  amusing  book, 
and  took  no  sort  of  notice  of  any  one.  All  this  evidently 
occasioned  great  annoyance  to  Sir  Edmund,  who  kindly 
tried  to  reassure  Kate,  and  to  encourage  her  in  her  per¬ 
formance  ;  but  she  felt  that  it  was  weak  and  ineffective, 
and  she  very  soon  left  the  instrument  and  tried  to  oc¬ 
cupy  herself  with  her  embroidery.  The  chimes  in  the 
hall  soon  after  gave  notice  that  this  painful  evening  was 
at  an  end,  and  after  prayers  the  young  ladies  gave  Kate 
a  parting  bow,  which  spoke  as  clearly  as  words  could 
have  expressed  it,  ‘‘We  do  not  intend  to  become  at  all 
intimate  with  a  governess.” 

Poor  Kate,  I  fear  I  must  confess,  poor  Kate  felt  all 
this  more,  ay  much  more,  than  she  would  have  done  a 
real  miifortune :  stung  to  the  quick  bj  the  pride  and 
0* 


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arrogance  of  girls,  who,  but  for  untoward  events,  would 
have  bebn  in  all  respects  her  inferiors,  she  felt  indig¬ 
nant  at  having  so  tamely  submitted  to  their  imperti¬ 
nence  ;  but  after  a  close  examination  of  her  ov/n  heart 
and  feelings,  she  wept  tears  of  self-reproach  and  blamed 
in  herself  the  pride  which  had  thus  barbed  the  arrow 
from  which  she  might  otherwise  have  escaped  un¬ 
scathed.  Yes,  it  is  pride,”  she  said,  “and  I  must 
set  myself  earnestly  to  subdue  its  power;”  and  she 
sought  in  prayer  the  assistance  she  required  for  the 
conflict. 

Meanwhile  Isabel  and  Julia  had  been  holding  a 
•  long  conference  in  the  next  room,  unchecked  by  the 
presence  of  their  lady’s  maid  Neville,  who  pretended  to 
be  very  busy  in  arranging  their  dr^iwers.  “  Well,  Julia, 
what  do  you  think  of  this  smart  governess  ?  I  for  my 
part  am  quite  astonished  at  the  sort  of  footing  she  has 
gained  in  this  house,  and  I  am  quite  determined  that  1 
will  not  so  lose  a  sense  of  my  own  position  in  society  as 
to  become  a  companion  of  a  governess.” 

“Well  done,  Isabel,”  said  Julia,  “  I  commend  your 
spirit  and  amour  yropre^  and  I  shall  certainly  follow 
your  example  :  for  my  part,  I  always  detest  governesses, 
they  always  seem  to  expect  you  to  respect  their  feelings 
as  they  call  them  ;  I  wonder  what  such  people  have  to 
do  with  feelings,  and  if  they  have  any,  why,  they  are 
well  paid  to  get  rid  of  them  as  fast  as  they  can :  in 
short  I  think  they  ought  to  keep  entirely  to  the  chil¬ 
dren’s  apartments  and  not  intrude  themselves  into  the 
society  of  ladies.” 

“  And  how  ridiculous,”  said  Isabel,  “  my  uncle  and 
aunt  are  to  talk  of  her  musical  talents ;  I  would  not 


HOME  is  HOME. 


201 


trtist  her  to  teach  my  kitten  to  mew ;  if  she  did,  I  fear 
poor  pussy  would  find  it  difficult  to  make  herself 
heard.” 

‘‘  I  wonder,”  said  Julia,  “  whether  she  goes  down  to 
dine  when  they  have  visitors ;  do  you  know,  Neville?” 

“Oh  no,  miss,  I  hear  she  has  never  been  down  to 
company  till  this  evening.” 

“  What  a  shame  !”  exclaimed  both  the  girls  at  once, 
“  What  an  abominable  thing  !  so  we  are  the  favored 
ones.” 

“  I  am  sure,”  said  Isabel,  “  we  are  greatly  indebted 
to  my  uncle  for  the  honor  of  the  introduction,  but  I 
shall  soon  show  him  that  Isabel  Waldegrave  is  not  to 
be  trifled  with  ;”  and  the  young  beauty  drew  herself  up, 
and  with  stately  majesty  surveyed  herself  in  the  glass 
in  which  her  really  elegant  figure  was  reflected. 

“  I  am  sure,  miss,”  said  Neville,  “  you  have  no  rea¬ 
son  to  fear  any  comparisons  being  made  between  either 
you  or  Miss  Julia  with  this  low-born  girl.” 

“  No  !  is  she  low-born  ?  well,  I  am  a  little  surprised 
at  that ;  but  how  did  you  hear  it,  Neville?” 

“  0,  Miss  Isabel,  governesses  and  such  people  must, 
you  know,  be  very  -inferior,  and  Bennet  tells  me  that 
she  can  dress  herself  without  much  assistance,  and  law 
bless  me,  miss,  that’s  proof  enough  for  me  that  she’s 
never  been  no  great  things ;  I  don’t  want  to  know 
another  hindividgal  circumstance  of  her  bringing  up.” 

“  Well,  Neville,  you  are  a  clever  creature  to  be  sure  ; 
it  is,  as  you  say,  quite  convincing,  for  I  never  met  with 
any  one  in  real  high  life  who  could  do  a  single  thing 
of  the  sort ; — Julia  !  what  can  you  be  doing  ?  I  de¬ 
clare  unfastening  your  own  sash  !  When  shall  I  teach 


S02 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


you  the  propriety  of  giving  yourself  up,  as  Miss  De 
Saintrille  would  say,  to  the  hands  of  your  attendant 
Julia  looked  quite  shocked,  and  retired  to  her  own 
apartment  a  little  ashamed  and  very  indignant  at  her 
nistei's  remonstranod. 


CHAPTER  XIX; 


April,  with  its  evanescent  smiles  and  tearful  showers 
has  passed  away  and  ushered  in  the  queen  of  all  the 
spring,  “  May,’^  with  its  sunny  days  and  pearl-like  flow¬ 
ers  bespangling  every  hawthorn,  as  though  the  showers 
of  April  had  left  their  tears  congealed  upon  each  leafv 
spray.  The  day  after  Kate’s  introduction  to  the  Miss 
Waldegraves  the  weather  became  so  hot  and  almost 
summer-like  that  she  resolved  to  delay  her  walk  with 
the  children  till  later  in  the  day  than  their  usual  hour 
for  recreation. 

There  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the  house  a 
sort  of  hollow,  or  dell,  surrounded  by  oaks  and  other 
trees,  the  gnarled  roots  of  which  in  places  formed  a  sort 
of  roofed  shelter  to  the  bank  beneath,  which,  covered 
with  moss  and  wild  flowers,  formed  a  delightful  shaded 
resting-place,  and  to  this  spot  Sir  Edmund  had  caused 
a  gradually  sloping  path  to  be  constructed  in  order  that 
the  couch-like  carriage  of  the  little  Alice  might  convey 
her  there  without  fatigue:  the  mossy  carpet  of  this 
lovely  dell  was  now  thickly  strewn  with  the  pale  blue 
flowers  of  the  wild  hyacinth,  and  the  white  star-like 
blossoms  of  the  wood  anemone  peeped  forth  from  every 
grassy  tuft.  It  was  to  this  place  that  Kate  had  just 
brought  the  children,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  little 


204 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


invalid  arrived  escorted  by  nurse,  and  with  John  draw 
ing  her  little  carriage. 

As  she  approached,  her  eyes  sparkled  with  delight, 
evincing  the  happiness  in  being  able  once  more*  to  visit 
her  own  favorite  spot,  and  here  for  some  time  the  little 
party  amuse  themselves  with  gathering  flowers  and 
twining  them  into  garlands  and  wreaths  with  which 
to  ornament  the  little  carriage,  and  form  a  crown  to 
place  on  the  fair  curling  hair  of  the  little  Gertrude  whom 
Alice  calls  her  sweet  “  Queen  of  the  May,”  and  Kate 
sits  on  the  mossy  bank  under  the  trees,  with  a  book  in 
her  hand,  though  she  is  evidently  much  disturbed  by 
the  frequent  demands  which  the  children  make  oii 
her  attention.  “  Dear  Kate,”  Alice  says,  “  do  come, 
I  am  sure  you  will  hang  my  garlands  quite  beautifully.” 

Can  you  find  a  little  bit  of  string  ?”  Henrietta  asks, 
and  Kate  from  her  basket  produces  the  desired  trea¬ 
sure,  and  then  again  she  tries  to  pursue  the  beautiful 
story  which  engrosses  her  thoughts  and  attention.  A 
long  time  they  sit,  enjoying  this  first  of  summer, 
days,  and  now  all  are  silent,  the  wreaths  are  finished, 
and  Gertrude  is  looking  quite  lovely  as  on  a  mossy  bank 
they  place  her,  and  Kate  hails  her  4s  the  “Fairy 
Queen  Titania.”  At  this  moment,  a  rustling  above 
their  heads  alarms  them,  and  presently  a  beautiful 
spaniel  comes  bounding  down  the  bank,  and  he  is 
almost  instantly  followed  by  a  young  and  handsome 
man,  who  exclaims,  “  Oh,  my  little  darlings,  I  thought 
I  should  find  you  here !”  and  Gertrude,  all  unmind¬ 
ful  of  her  queenlike  dignity,  jumps  into  his  arms,  and 
says,  “  Oh,  it’s  my  own  dear,  dear  Carlty  !  where  have 
you  been  sd  long  from  your  little  wife?” 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


205 


After  a  few  moments  of  delight  and  happiness,  the 
children  recollected  that  they  had  not  mentioned  to 
Miss  Sinclair,  the  name  of  their  newly-arrived  favor¬ 
ite,  and  on  looking  round,  they  perceived  that  she  had 
quietly  withdrawn  to  the  other  side  of  the  little  dell ; 
so,  seizing  Mr.  Carleton’s  hand,  they  said,  “  Oh,  do 
come  and  see  our  dear  new  governess,”  and  with  gentle 
violence  they  lead  him  towards  her. 

It  was  an  awkward  moment  for  Kate,  but  Mr. 
Carleton  advanced  and  raising  his  hat,  said,  “  I  fear, 
Miss  Sinclair,  I  must  apologize  for  intruding  myself  in 
this  way  upon  your  notice,  but  I  was  quite  longing  to 
see  all  my  little  favorites,  and  learning  from  the  serv¬ 
ants  that  they  were  here  I  followed  them,  wishing 
much  to  see  whether  I  should  be  remembered  ;  but  I 
hope  I  shall  be  considered  less  a  stranger  to  you  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  bro¬ 
ther,  Mr.  Charles  Sinclair,  at  Sir  Archibald  Munroe’s 
the  other  morning,  and  he  has  entrusted  a  little  volume 
of  yours  to  my  care,  which  I  hope  will  be  found  safe 
when  my  baggage  arrives.” 

Kate  smiled  and  thanked  him  with  a  guileless  art¬ 
lessness  that  quite  charmed  him,  and  they  were  all 
very  soon  on  the  best  possible  terms.  Carleton  had 
no  silly  pride  to  contend  with,  he  thought  Kate  a 
lovely  girl  and  was  pleased  with  her  open  unsophisti¬ 
cated  manner,  and  for  some  time  he  remained  talking 
with  her,  and  caressing  the  children,  who  were  all 
greatly  charmed  at  the  surprise  his  unexpected  ap¬ 
pearance  had  occasioned.  Presently  nurse  arrived  to 
take  tome  little  Alice,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  slowly 
followed. 


5^6  HOME  IS  HOME. 

At  the  door  they  met  Lady  Beauchamp  and  the 
Miss  Waldegraves.  Isabel,  on  seeing  Mr.  Carleton 
held  out  her  hand  with  most  engaging  warmth,  and 
said,  Is  it  possible  !  Mr.  Carleton  !  why,  we  thought 
you  were  in  Germany  !” 

Carleton  explained  that  he  had  arrived  at  Granby 
about  an  hour  before,  and  that  after  sitting  a  few  min¬ 
utes  with  Sir  Edmund  and  Lady  Beauchamp,  he  had 
gone  in  search  of  his  dear  little  friends  whom  he  had 
found  in  “  The  Fairy  Dell,  as  in  days  of  yore  we  used, 
you  know,  to  designate  my  favorite  spot.” 

“  0  yes,”  said  Isabel,  “  I  well  remember  and  she 
got  up  a  very  sentimental  expression  of  countenance, 
which  was,  however,  lost  on  Carleton,  as  he  had  turned 
to  look  for^Kate  and  the  children,  and  felt  much  cha¬ 
grined  at  perceiving  that  she  had  quietly  withdrawn 
from  the  party,  and,  as  he  felt  convinced  was  the  case, 
quite  unnoticed  by  the  Miss  Waldegraves.  Lady 
Beauchamp  had  also  disappeared,  and  was  in  truth 
gone  into  the  house  with  Kate,  to  soften,  if  possible, 
the  effects  of  her  niece’s  ill-breeding  towards  her. 
Carleton  had  small  inclination  for  a  flirtation  with 
Miss  Isabel,  and  to  relieve  his  embarrassment,  he  said, 
“  Will  you  not  introduce  me  to  your  sister,  Miss 
Waldegrave  ?” 

‘‘  0,  to  be  sure,  certainly ;  Julia,  this  is  my  old 
friend,  Mr.  Carleton,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me 
speak.” 

The  young  lady  curtsied,  and  Carleton  gracefully 
bowed,  but  he  thought  to  himself,  “  Old  friend,  indeed  I 
just  the  same  forward  girl  as  ever,  I  see,  and  what  a 
contrast  to  that  sweet  quiet  modest  creature  I  saw  just 


HOM£  IS  HOME. 


m 

now.  Well,  well,  I  am  not  to  be  entrapped^  Miss  Isa¬ 
bel,  and  I  shall  take  care  to  keep  aloof  from  your  arts 
as  much  as  possible.”  He  then  entered  into  conversa¬ 
tion  for  a  few  moments  with  the  sisters,  and  in  its 
progress  contrived  gradually  to  approach  the  door  of 
the  hall,  when,  seeing  that  he  must  make  some  excuse 
for  leaving  them,  he  said,  “  I  believe  I  must  find  my 
man,  for  I  have  some  parcels  for  Lady  Beauchamp,” 
and  slightly  bowing,  he  hastily  retreated  into  the 
house. 

Three  or  four  days  now  passed  without  giving  rise 
to  any  incident  worthy  of  observation.  Kate  occasion¬ 
ally  met  Mr.  Carleton  and  the  young  ladies,  but  she 
had  been  so  much  annoyed  by  the  hauteur  of  the  latter 
that  she  gladly  availed  herself  of  any  excuse  for  re¬ 
maining  with  the  children :  already,  too,  she  read  in 
the  manner  of  Bennet  that  she  was  less  respected  and 
considered  than  she  had  been  before  the  arrival  of  the 
pert  lady’s  maid,  and  the  children  told  her  that  Bennet 
had  spoken  of  her  in  a  very  unpleasant  manner  to 
them,  but  that  they  had  threatened  to  tell  mamma  if 
she  was  so  impertinent.”  All  this  was  very  trying  to 
poor  Kate,  but  she  steadily  pursued  her  prescribed 
course,  and  sought  in  every  way  to  drive  away  the 
feelings  of  wounded  pride  which  now  so  frequently  as¬ 
sailed  her. 

It  might  be  fancy,  but  she  even  imagined  that  her 
kind  friend  Lady  Beauchamp  was  not  quite  the  same 
in  manner ;  at  all  events,  she  now  saw  her  much  less 
frequently,  although  she  admitted  that  was  her  own 
fault  in  a  great  degree,  and  she  determined  to  exert  her¬ 
self  once  more  to  join  the  musical  party  in  the  evening 


5208 


HOM£:  IS  HOMS* 


if  slie  should  be  requested  to  do  so.  She  had  scarcely 
arrived  at  this  conclusion  when  Lady  Beauchamp  her¬ 
self  came  into  her  little  room,  and  said,  “  Come,  my  dear 
Miss  Sinclair,  I  really  cannot  allow  you  to  seclude  your¬ 
self  any  longer ;  I  do  hope  you  will  come  to  us  this 
evening,  and  lend  us  a  little  aid  in  our  musical  arrange¬ 
ments.  Mr.  Carleton  is  a  devoted  lover  of  music,  and 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  quite  charmed  with  his  exquisite 
voice  and  delightful  taste,  so  now  let  me  see  you  ; — no, 
no,  I  can  hear  of  no  excuses,”  and  nodding  goodhumored* 
ly  left  the  room,  giving  Kate  no  time  to  express  any  dis¬ 
inclination  to  comply  with  her  request.  And  in  truth 
Kate  had  no  intention  to  refuse,  though  she  dreaded 
meeting  the  Miss  Waldegraves,  “  Still,”  as  she  thought, 
I  have  resolved  to  overcome  my  pride  of  heart,  and  I 
ought  not  to  omit  any  opportunity  of  doing  so.” 

The  evening  passed  much  more  agreeably  than  Kate 
had  anticipated  :  the  Miss  Waldegraves  certainly  did  not 
at  all  lay  aside  their  condescending  impertinence  of  man¬ 
ner  towards  her,  but  it  had  lost  much  of  its  power  now 
that  she  had  taught  herself  to  consider  it  in  its  true 
light,  and  supported  by  the  kind  attention  of  Sir  Edmund 
and  Lady  Beauchamp  she  ventured  to  approach  the 
instrument  with  more  self-possession  than  she  had 
thought  possible.  She  played  with  exquisite  taste  and 
feeling  and  in  her  own  peculiarly  graceful  manner. 

When  she  ceased  playing  Mr.  Carleton,  who  had 
evidently  listened  with  the  greatest  interest  and  pleasure, 
said,  That  was  indeed  quite  charming,  but  I  hope  you 
sing  too.  Miss  Sinclair  ; — Oh,  I  am  sure  you  must.” 

Yes,”  said  Kate,  “  I  sing  a  little ;”  and  Lady 
Beauchamp,  vho  was  sitting  near  them,  said,  Oh^ 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


209 


will  you  sing  that  sweet  little  May  song  which  I  ad¬ 
mired  so  much  the  other  evening.” 

Kate  immediately  took  her  seat  at  the  instrument 
and  sang  from  memory  the  pretty  little  song  of  May- 
dew,”  in  which  the  rich  tones  of  her  young  melodious 
voice  with  the  graceful  “  dew-dropping”  accompaniment 
quite  delighted  her  auditors,  especially  Mr.  Carlton, 
whose  warm  encomiums  and  bright  animated  looks 
greatly  chagrined  and  annoyed  Isabel  Wald egrave, whose 
envious  feelings  were  ever  excited  by  hearing  another 
praised  or  admired  ;  struggling,  however,  to  regain  her 
usual  manner  of  easy  self-confidence,  she  now  approached 
Carleton,  and  taking  up  a  duet  as  she  passed  the  music- 
table  said,  Oh,  Mr.  Carleton,  I  really  must  ask  you  to 
let  us  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  your  voice  again, 
that  will  indeed  be  delightful ;  do  sing  this  duet 
with  me.” 

It  was  Mendelssohn’s'  I  would  that  my  love,”  and 
he  had  just  decided  on  asking  Kate  to  sing  it  with 
him,  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  rude  to  refuse  Isabel’s 
request ;  and  now  it  was  Kate’s  turn  to  listen  with  de¬ 
lighted  attention,  for  surely  she  had  never  beard  so 
sweet  a  voice  ;  it  was  a  rich  counter  tenor,  but  there 
was  a  peculiarity  in  its  tones  which  she  never  re¬ 
membered  to  have  met  with  before,  and  she  was  quite 
charmed,  not  only  with  his  voice,  but  with  the  exquisite 
taste  and  feeling  he  developed  ;  and  then  his  manner, 
too,  so  lively  yet  so  tender  and  so  very  graceful  that 
nothing  could  exceed  its  charm.  On  leaving  the  instru¬ 
ment  Isabel  cast  a  look  of  triumph  at  Kate,  and  swept 
by  her  without  addressing  a  word' to  her,  and  then  in  a 
low  tone  to  Julia  muttered  a  few  words,  of  which  that 


H  O  M  E  IS  HOME. 


•zio 

of  “  governess  ”  was  alone  audible,  but  that  word 
reached  the  ear  and  the  heart  of  the  sensitive  Kate, 
and  she  could  not  control  the  blush  which  betrayed 
that  it  had  done  so.  Carleton  heard  it  too,  and  saw 
and  felt  for  poor  Kate’s  little  vexation.  Kind-hearted 
in  the  extreme,  and  much  pleased  with  Kate’s  gentle 
and  polished  manner,  he  could  not  help  feeling  anxious 
to  relieve  her  embarrassment,  and  he  immediately  asked 
her  to  allow  him  the  pleasure  of  singing  with  her,  in 
so  respectful  and  pleasing  a  manner  that  she  repaid 
him  with  a  look  of  gentle  thanks,  and  when  those  two 
sweet  voices  were  heard  mingling  their  natural  fine 
tones  it  was  impossible  for  even  an  Isabel  Waldegrave 
to  detect  aught  but  the  most  delightful  harmony  of 
sounds. 

After  the  party  dispersed  that  evening  Sir  Edmund 
returned  to  the  drawing-room,  when  finding  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ  there  alone,  he  said,  Beally,  Gertrude,  the 
manners  of  Isabel  and  Julia  quite  pain  and  grieve  me; 
I  positively  cannot  consent  to  allow  any  one  under  my 
roof  and  protection  tp  be  treated  with  such  hauteur  and 
rudeness  as  Miss  Sinclair  has  been  by  them  ever  since 
they  arrived  ” 

“  I  assure  you,”  Lady  Beauchamp  said,  “  I  feel 
quite  as  much  displeased  as  you  do,  but  I  have  hith¬ 
erto  abstained  from  noticing  their  conduct,  hoping 
that  they  would  become  aware  of  its  impropriety,  and 
really  fearing  I  might  do  mischief  instead  of  putting 
the  affair  on  a  more  pleasant  footing.” 

‘‘  Well,  well,  Gertrude,  I  am  sure  with  your  kind 
heart  you  cannot  approve  such  conduct,  and  I  must 
take  som3  measures  for  putting  an  end  to  it,  and  as  to 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


211 


Carle  ton  I  am  sure  he  is  quite  disgusted  at  the  exhi¬ 
bition  of  such  unworthy  feelings.”  Lady  Beauchamp 
then  promised  to  converse  with  her  nieces  the  next  day, 
and  try  to  induce  them  to  behave  with  more  propriety, 
though  she  secretly  feared  it  would  be  no  easy  task. 

The  contaminating  influence  of  pride  had  gradually 
found  its  way  into  the  hearts  of  many  members  of  Sir 
Edmund’s  household,  and  Kate  felt,  in  the  petty  slights 
which  she  now  received,  new  cause  each  day  to  regret 
the  arrival  of  the  Miss  Waldegraves;  still  there  was 
not  sufficient  ground  to  lead  to  a  complaint  of  ill-beha¬ 
vior  in  the  servants.  “  Trifles  light  as  air”  were  to  her 
sensitive  mind,  proof  that  in  some  way  her  position  in 
the  family  had  undergone  a  change.  Larkins,  the  foot¬ 
man,  had  always  shown  something  of  the  disrespect  and 
disregard,  which  vulgar  servants  too  frequently  exhibit 
towards  those  who  are  in  any  way  occupying  a  situation 
of  dependence,  and  now  this  manner  was  much  increas¬ 
ed,  and  he  would  pass  Kate  without  the  slightest  notice, 
occasionally  beginning  to  whistle  long  before  she  could 
be  out  of  hearing;  and  on  one  occasion  when  Lady 
Beauchamp  told  him  to  tell  Miss  Sinclair  that  the 
carriage  was  at  the  door  to  take  her  and  the  children 
for  a  drive,”  he  went  to  the  housemaid’s  bell,  and  sum¬ 
moned  Bennet,  saying  in  a  loud  tone  which  Kate  over¬ 
heard,  “  I  say,  Bennet,  tell  Miss  Tinckler,  or  whatever 
she’s  called,  that  the  carriage  is  waiting,  I  was  not  en¬ 
gaged  by  Sir  Edmund  to  wait  upon  governesses.” 

“  Well,”  said  Bennet,  nor  me  neither,  and  I  shall 
very  soon  leave,  I  can  tell  them,  for  as  Neville  says, 
^  what  is  she  to  be  waited  upon  for,  I  wonder  V  ” 

At  this  moment  Kate  and  the  children  descended 


212 


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the  stairs,  and  passed  close  by  the  scene  of  dispute,  but 
her  veil  was  drawn  closely  over  her  face,  and  no  one 
saw  the  heightened  color  which  suffused  her  cheek.  As 
soon  as  she  was  gone,  Bennet  stole  a  look  at  Larkins, 
and  said  in  a  low  voice,  “  Do  you  think  she  heard  us  ?” 

“  Who  cares  ?”  said  the  man,  “  not  Tm  for  one ;  I 
hope  she  did,  and  I  shall  tell  Mrs.  Neville  by-and-bye, 
how  nicely  we  have  put  down  “  the  governess but 
Bennet  remembered  many  little  acts  of  kindness  which 
she  had  received  from  Miss  Sinclair,  and  she  half  re¬ 
pented  having  spoken  so  disrespectfully,  but  it  was  only 
half^  and  day  after  day  some  new  petty  impertinence 
befell  poor  Kate,  and  all  these  annoyances  sprang  from 
the  evil  example  of  the  two  proud  ill-educated  girls, 
who  encouraged  their  servant  to  speak  in  their  presence, 
with  impertinence  and  disrespect,  of  one  who  was  in 
every  way  their  superior,  though  by  adverse  circum¬ 
stances  obliged  for  a  time  to  employ  her  talents  as  a 
means  of  subsistence. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Carleton’s  arrival,  he  told 
Sir  Edmund  that  he  was  going  to  Granby,  and  that  he 
should  walk  to  the  village,  where  he  might  possibly 
stay  some  little  time  with  Dr.  Elliott,  and  calling 
Dash,”  he  sallied  forth,  taking  the  path  through  the 
shrubbery,  and  across  the  meadows  which  were  now 
in  full  beauty  and  luxuriance.  The  weather  was  un¬ 
usually  hot  for  the  time  of  year,  and  Carleton  frequently 
lifted  his  hat  to  admit  air,  and  then  would  pause,  to 
watch  the  progress  of  the  rapid  little  stream,  occa¬ 
sionally  throwing  in  pieces  of  stick,  or  tufts  of  grass, 
and  sending  “  Dash”  in  to  fetch  them  out,  avoiding 
his  rough  shake  which  sent  a  shower  around  him  when 


H  O  M  £  is  HOME. 


213 


lie  returned  to  lay  his  trophy  at  his  master’s  feet. 
‘‘  Good  dog,  Dash,  good  dog :  in  again  Dash,  go 
fetch.” 

At  last,  tired  with  the  heat,  he  laid  himself  down 
upon  the  mossy  bank,  and  for  a  long  time  remained 
watching  the  dipping  of  the  swallow  in  the  water,  the 
May-fly  skimming  on  its  surface,  and  the  thousand  in¬ 
sects  which  the  hot  day  had  brought  to  revel  in  the 
sunshine  ;  while  thus  occupied,  he  thought  he  caught 
the  sound  of  voices,  and  he  presently  heard  Kate’s  in 
earnest  conversation  with  some  other  person,  and  be¬ 
fore  he  could  apprise  her  of  his  presence,  he  heard  her 
say,  Tell  him,  Jane,  that  I  cannot  come  now  but  that 
I  will  come  this  evening  at  five  o’clock and  as  he 
started  on  his  feet  to  speak  to  her  he  saw  a  young  girl 
running  hastily  towards  the  village.  What  had  he  to 
do  with  Miss  Sinclair’s  arrangements?”  he  thought,  and 
“  why  should  he  feel  a  particular  wish  to  know  whom 
she  had  thus  engaged  to  meet  ?”  surely,  it  could  in  no 
way  interest  him,  but  he  did  feel  constrained  and 
uneasy,  and  when  he  addressed  her  he  felt  that  his 
manner  was  less  cordial  than  usual ;  when  he  first  ap^ 
preached  her  she  was  alone,  but  in  another  moment, 
Henrietta  and  Gertrude  joined  her,  panting  with  run¬ 
ning  and  very  warm,  and  Kate  said,  “  Yf  hy  did  you 
follow  me,  my  dears,  I  told  you  I  should  return  to  you 
in  a  few  moments,  and  I  wished  you  to  stay  on  the  bank 
where  I  left  you.”  Carleton’s  curiosity  was  now  quite 
in  the  ascendant,  still  he  could  not  ask  questions,  so 
speaking  a  few  words  of  afiection  to  the  children,  he 
bowed  to  Miss  Sinclair,  and  pursued  his  way  to  Granby, 
leaving  Kate  a  little  perplexed  at  his  change  of  man- 


214 


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ner.  His  piercing  bright  eyes  seemed  to  have  looked 
her  through,  and  as  she  sauntered  back  to  the  mound 
fn  the  park  where  she  had  been  sitting  with  the  chil 
dren,  her  mind  dwelt  with  unaccountable  interest  on 
the  words  and  looks  of  the  young  man,  but  she  thought 
— Why  should  I  dwell  on  the  subject,  surely  it  can¬ 
not  be  a  matter  of  interest  to  me” — still  again  and  again 
the  thought  of  those  bright  eyes  returned  to  her  recol¬ 
lection,  causing  her  to  start  with  a  feeling  of  nervous 
anxiety. 

At  five  o’clock  that  evening  Kate  took  her  lonely 
walk  to  the  village,  and  in  half  an  hour  she  was  fob 
lowed  by  Carle  ton  who,  having  seen  her  pass  through 
the  shrubbery  in  her  pretty  small  straw  bonnet  and 
neat  walking-dress,  felt  assured  that  she  was  going  to 
fulfil  the  engagement  which  he  had  heard  her  make  in 
the  morning  ;  he  walked  rapidly  through  the  meadows 
scarcely  knowing  why  he  followed  her  or  what  course 
h^  intended  to  pursue,  yet  urged  on  by  that  irresistible 
impulse  to  which  young  and  ardent  minds  often  yield 
their  better  judgments ;  when  he  reached  the  stile 
which  overlooked  the  village-green  he  paused,  and 
sitting  on  the  lowly  bench,  now  overshadowed  by  the 
hawthorn  in  full  luxuriance  of  beauty,  he  tried  to  col¬ 
lect  his  thoughts,  and  he  felt  the  warm  color  mount  to 
his  eyes  as  he  reflected,  “  What  excuse  can  I  offer  for 
thus  indulging  my  curiosity  by  following  Miss  Sinclair 
without  her  knowledge  ?  even  if  I  succeed  in  finding 
her,  which  is  doubtful,  how  foolish  I  have  been  in  this 
matter ! — well — I’ll  just  go  down  to  Dr.  Elliott’s  again, 
and  then  return,  I  see  I  must  give  up  this  foolish 
chase  and  he  once  more  rapidly  walked,  indeed  almost 


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215 


ran  forward  till  he  reached  the  palings  of  Dr.  Elliott’s 
garden  ;  hut  as  he  advanced  more  leisurely  up  the  path 
to  the  house  he  thought,  ‘‘  but  this,  too,  is  very  awk¬ 
ward — I  only  left  Dr.  Elliott’s  two  hours  ago^ — what 
will  he  think  of  my  sudden  return,  without  any  ade¬ 
quate  reason  ?  well,  he  would  trust  to  circumstances,” 
and  he  knocked  at  the  door,  and  in  another  moment 
was  ushered  into  the  study ;  here,  seated  at  his  desk, 
writing  his  sermons  for  the  next  Sunday,  was  the  good 
Doctor,  who  laid  down  his  spectacles,  and  holding  out 
his  hand  welcomed  Carleton,  though  he  evidently  ex¬ 
pected  to  be  told  some  reason  for  his  visit,  but  as  no 
subterfuge  ever  found  its  way  to  Carleton’s  li-ps,  he* 
only  looked  very  shy  and  distrait,  and  after  sitting  a 
few  moments,  once  more  departed  and  took  his  way 
homewards,  not  however  without  lingering  and  looking 
about  for  the  object  of  his  present  interest. 

When  he  was  gone,  Dr.  Elliott  sat  and  mused  upon 
his  sudden  and  strange  visit ;  “  What  could  have  induced 
it  ?  why,  he  scarcely  spoke  at  all,  and  then  he  had  been 
so  long  with  me  before  to-day,  what  could  his  object 
have  been?  Now,  if  that  sweet  Kate  had  been  here  I 
should  have  feared  he  had  come  after  her,  but  that 
could  not  be,  for  she  has  not  been  here  for  some  days  j, 
I  confess,  I  am  quite  puzzled — but  this  is  a  sad  him 
drance  and  my  sermon  will  suffer.”  So  the  good  old 
man  resumed  his  pen,  and  for  some  moments  no  sound 
interrupted  the  silence,  save  the  ticking  of  a  time¬ 
piece  which  stood  near  him  ;  in  ten  minutes,  however, 
after  Carleton’s  departure^  the  knocker  again  aroused 
Dr.  Elliott  from  his  studies,  and  in  another  moment 
Kate  Sinclair  entere  {  the  room^  and  was  greeted  by 


216 


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her  kind  old  friend  with  words  of  real  affection  ;  taking 
her  small  hands  in  his  own  large  and  tremulous  ones, 
he  looked  kindly  into  her  sweet  eyes,  and  said,  “  I  think 
the  air  of  Granby  has  been  most  beneficial  to  you,  my 
dear  young  lady,  for  it  has  effectually  banished  the  lily 
and  implanted  in  its  stead  the  loveliest  of  roses  ;  there 
now,  you  need  not  increase  them,  surely  you  would  not 
blush  at  the  words  of  an  old  man  like  me ;  but  come, 
my  dear  child,  what  brings  you  out  at  this  hour  ?  some 
kind  reason  I  have  no  doubt 

“  Thanks,  my  dear  sir,”  replied  Kate^  “  you  always 
speak  so  flatteringly,  that  I  shall  begin  to  fear  lest  my 
foolish  heart  should  grow  vain  and  proud ;  I  am  come, 
to  ask  you  to  see  poor  blind  William  in  the  morning, 
he  is  in  sad  trouble  about  his  grand-daughter,  who  has 
left  her  place  in  Mr.  Goddard’s  family  very  suddenly, 
and,  as  he  fears  in  disgrace,  but  at  present  she  is  silent 
on  the  subject,  and  the  poor  old  man  is  quite  unhappy  ; 
I  have  been  talking  to  her,  but  as  yet  I  have  not  been 
able  to  induce  her  to  confess  her  fault,  though  I  have 
some  hope  that  she  is  silent  more  from  a  sense  of  shame 
than  from  sullenness  or  pride.” 

“  I  will  see  them  as  soon  as  possible,  my  dear,  but  1 
must  not  allow  you  to  lose  any  more  time  now  as,  par¬ 
don  me  if  I  seem  to  interfere,  but  I  really  do  not  like 
you  to  cross  the  fields  alone  so  late  in  the  evening,  it 
is  past  six  o’clock,  and  I  am  sure  that  it  is  not  right  that 
you  should  walk  without  an  escort.” 

Kate  thanked  him  for  his  kind  advice,  and  said^ 
“  Well,  dear  Dr.  Elliott,  I  will  promise  you  in  future 
to  time  my  visits  better,  but  I  am  sure  you  .need  not 
fear  for  my  safety,  I  shall  reach  the  park  in  a  quarter 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


217 


% 


of  an  hour,  and  after  that  you  know,  my  dear  sir,  I 
shall  be  quite  at  home.’* 

A  few  more  words,  with  an  affectionate  farewell 
from  the  good  doctor,  and  then  Kate  takes  her  home¬ 
ward  path ;  blithely  she  trips  along,  and  as  she  enters 
the  little  meadows  she  sings  in  the  cheerfulness  of  her 
heart,  and  gaily  moves  along  in  time  to  the  measure 
of  her  own  sweet  voice,  now  hastily  snatching  a  wild 
rose  as  she  passes  the  overhanging  boughs,  and  then 
a  bit  of  pretty  May,  which  is  rather  overblown  though, 
and  is  thrown  aside  as  not  fit  to  adorn  her  little  posy, 
much  does  she  enjoy  the  sweet  evening  walk,  and  now 
she  reaches  the  stile  which  leads  into  the  last  of  the 
meadows  ;  this  field  was  a  long  narrow  slip  of  ground, 
and  sloped  gradually  down  to  the  water ;  the  path  lay 
across  it,  and  it  was  but  a  very  short  distance  from 
one  stile  to  the  opposite  one;  just  as  Kate  had  de¬ 
scended  from  the  stile  and  was  setting  off  at  a  brisk 
pace  she  turned  her  head  to  the  left,  and  at  the  top  of 
the  field  she  saw  a  large  and  furious-looking  bull 
coming  directly  down  towards  her  ;  she  would  not  run 
but  somewhat  quickened  her  pace,  hoping  to  reach  the 
stile  before  the  creature  saw  her,  but  in  an  instant  it 
flew  at  her  with  a  headlong  speed  which  threatened 
instant  destruction,  ploughing  up  the  earth  with  its 
horns.  Paralysed  with  fear  she  stopped,  and  at  that 
moment  she  heard  a  man’s  voice  calling  her  by  name. 
Miss  Sinclair,  Kate,  throw  yourself  on  your  face  !” 
instinctively  she  obeyed,  and  the  furious  beast  rushed 
past  her  unable  to  check  its  flight  and  hurried  by  its 
own  impetus  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  hill ;  not  a  mo¬ 
ment  was  to  be  lost,  yet  Kate,  faint  with  alarm,  could 
10 


HOME  IS  HOME 


not  move  from  the  earth  on  which  she  had 
herself ;  suddenly  a  powerful  arm  raised  her,  and  cax- 
rying  her  along  with  great  rapidity  placed  her  in  safety 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stile,  then  jumping  quickly 
over,  Carleton,  for  it  was  he,  supported  the  almost 
fainting  girl  and  kindly  soothed  her  alarmed  spirits ; 
a  flood  of  tears  relieved  her,  but  finding  that  she  still 
trembled  and  looked  pale  Carleton  ms^isted  on  her 
leaning  on  his  arm  for  support,  and  gratefully  she  ac¬ 
cepted  his  profiered  aid,  though  it  was  some  time 
before  she  could  command  herself  sufficiently  to  ex¬ 
press  her  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  presence  of  mind 
and  courage  which  had  rescued  her  from  such  immi¬ 
nent  peril  and  danger.  On  reaching  the  house  Kate 
once  more  thanked  him  with  tearful  eyes,  and  then 
retired  to  her  room  to  offer  up  her  praises  and  thanks- 
givings  to  Him  who  had  sent  this  merciful  deliverance  ; 
nor  did  she  appear  any  more  that  evening.  In  vain 
Carleton  watjshed  every  opening  of  the  door,  he  longed’ 
to  know  how  the  sweet  girl  was  after  her  sad  alarm, 
but  a  fear  of  ridicule  kept  him  silent  on  the  subject, 
and  the  evening  dragged  heavily  on  as  if  the  wheels 
of  time  where  clogged  and  everything  had  suddenly 
lost  all  interest ;  he  felt  that  he  was  unlike  himself, 
and  after  waiting  till  nine  o’clock  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
Kate,  he  suddenly  pleaded  an  excuse  and  left  the 
drawing-room. 

When  the  Miss  Waldegraves  retired  for  the  night, 
Isabel  shut  the  door  closely,  and  turning  to  J ulia,  said, 
What  could  be  the  matter  with  Henry  Carleton,  this 
evening :  he  was  so  cold  and  so  distrait,  and  then  did 
you  observe  that  his  eyes  were  constantly  and  restlessly 


HOME  is  HOME. 


219 


looking  towards  the  door  every  time  Larkins  or  Gilbert 
eame  into  the  room?  what  is  the  reason  I  cannot 
think,  but  he  used  to  be  a  most  charming  person,  and 
How  he  is  so  changed.” 

“La,  miss,”  said  Neville,  “I  could  soon  tell  you 
what’s  the  matter,  but  I  don’t  want  to  make  mischief, 
and  I  am  sure  I  should  be  sorry  to  take  away  any^ 
body’s  bread,  but  I  know  if  I  Was  Lady  Beauchamp,  I 
would  soon  see  a  difference  in  things.” 

“  What  can  you  mean,  Neville  ?”  said  Julia,  “  what 
call  you  know  about  Mr.  Carle  ton  ?” 

“  Oh,  very  well,  miss,  I  don’t  want  to  tell,  but  you 
might  depend  he’s  no  more  goodness  in  him  than  ano¬ 
ther  might  who  mightn't  be  so  rich  or  handsome.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Isabel,  “  1  am  really  quite  anxious  td 
know  what  you  mean,  Neville,  and  now  that  you  have 
gone  so  far  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me.” 

“  Well,  miss,”  said  Neville,  “  if  you  insists  I  am 
certainly  in  duty  bound  to  obey  your  just  commands, 
and  nobody  can’t  blame  me  if  I  do  my  duty  ;  but  you 
must  remember,  I  only  just  heard  the  tale  at  the  sup¬ 
per-table,  and  it  may  not  be  true ;  it  was  the  under 
gardener  that  told  it.” 

“  Told  what,  Neville  ?  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so 
slow.” 

“  Wellj^iss,  John  said  that  he  was  coming  round 
from  the  flower  gardens  this  evening  about  five  o’clock, 
when  he  saw  Miss  Sinclair  come  down  the  shrubbery, 
and  walk  on  towards  Granby,  but  as  she  often  did  so 
he  did  not  think  much  about  it,  but  that  after  he  had 
prepared  a  place  or  two  for  some  roretantrums,  he 
was  returning  to  the  gardens  when  ho  saw  Mr.  Carlo* 


220 


WOME  is  llOME. 


ton  very  quickly  following  the  path  that  Miss  Sinclair 
had  taken  about  a  half  an  hour  before  ;  ^  Oh,  thought  I, 
Bays  John,  ^  there’s  some  mischief  a-brewing  and  I’ll  just 
Bee  what  comes  of  this,’  however,  John  was  called  away, 
and  the  gardener  kept  him  nearly  an  hour  before  he 
could  return  to  the  path  to  Granby,  when  to  his  great 
surprise.  Miss  Isabel,  he  saw  Mr.  Carleton  running 
along  the  last  path  field  a-carrying  Miss  in  his  arms, 
and  jumping  her  over  the  stile  like  a  great  romping 
school-girl,  and  then  he  stood  and  looked  in  her  face  I 
and  then  after  a  bit  they  walked  home  arm  in  arm  ! 
there  !  young  ladies,  I  don’t  wonder  at  your  surprise.” 

“  Surprise  !”  said  Isabel,  “  I  never  in  my  life  heard 
of  such  scandalous  behavior,  and  with  an  almost 
stranger  too  !  for  I  know  she  never  even  saw  him  till 
three  weeks  ago  !  I  declare  Julia  I  will  tell  my  aunt ! 
a  pretty  governess  truly  she  must  be  ! — well,  I  shall 
consider  it  quite  my  duty  to  put  a  stop  to  such 
proceedings.” 

“  Oh  !  Miss  Waldegrave,”  said  Neville,  “  I  do  hope 
you  will  not  mention  what  I  have  told  you,  oh,  dear 
miss,  you  would  make  a  sad  confusion,  for  every  one 
must  know  that  I  told  you,  and  I  am  sure  the  house 
will  be  too  hot  to  hold  me  if  once  the  servants  think 
I  repeat  what  is  said  in  the  servants’  hall ;  so  now  pray, 
Miss  Isabel,  I  hope  you  will  promise  to  k(3fep  it  a  secret 
for  the  present,  and  depend  on  it  she  will  soon  be  found 
out  if  that’s  her  behavior.” 

“  Well,  Neville,”  said  Isabel,  “  I  see  there  is  some 
reason  for  what  you  say,  and  at  all  events  I  will  not  be 
the  first  to  tell  the  tale ;  but  I  do  hope  she  will  not 
succeed  in  her  vile  arts.” 


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221 


When  Garleton  left  the  drawing-room  lo  abruptly, 
he  felt  so  feverish  and  uncomfortable  from  the  excite¬ 
ment  which  the  afternoon’s  adventure  had  occasioned, 
that  he  strolled  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  after  walking  up 
and  down  a  few  moments,  he  again  took  his  way  through 
the  shrubbery  path  and  went  towards  the  scene  of 
Kate’s  perilous  adventure.  As  he  leant  with  folded 
arms  upon  the  stile  and  contemplated  the  place  where 
so  lately  he  had  seen  her,  as  it  were,  on  the  verge  of 
destruction,  he  shuddered  and  felt  a  thrill  of  awe  steal 
over  him  ;  her  escape  had  been  indeed  almost  miracu¬ 
lous,  as  nothing  but  his  accidental  presence  could  have 
saved  her.  Then  came  the  thought,  But  was  my 
presence  accidental ;  was  it  not  mercifully  permitted 
that  my  agency  should  be  employed  to  save  the  life  of 
this  sweet  girl?”  Ay,  he  thought,  she  is  indeed  a 
sweet  girl ;  and  he  retraced  the  progress  of  an  interest 
which  he  felt  had  been  hourly  increasing  in  his  heart 
since  he  first  met  her.  Then  came  the  sudden  ques¬ 
tion,  “  But  to  what  does  all  this  tend  %  Shall  I  permit 
her  to  gain  such  an  ascendancy  over  my  feelings  with¬ 
out  ascertaining  that  at  all  events  she  is  free  in  heart  and 
hand?  No;  but  am  I  prepared  to  woo  and  seek  to 
win  her  as  my  bride  ?  Oh,  surely  this  is  premature,  J 
may  not  wish  to  do  so ;  I  am  now  excited,  and  to-morrow 
I  shall  be  myself  again.”  Thus  mused  Carleton,  and 
long  he  communed  with  himself  before  he  retired  for 
the  night. 

The  next  day  Kate  arose  quite  ill  with  headache, 
and  she  instantly  sought  her  kind  friend  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ,  and  told  her  of  the  adventure  which  had  be¬ 
fallen  her  the  evening  before ;  her  account  was  very 


222 


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simple,  and  she  did  not  enlarge  upon  the  alarming 
situation  from  which  Carleton  had  rescued  her,  in¬ 
deed,  she  felt  half  inclined  to  withhold  his  share  in  the 
story,  but  her  natural  openness  rendered  all  conceal¬ 
ment  impossible,  and  with  blushing  cheeks  she  related 
the  whole  affair.  After  some  little  hesitation,  however, 
she  asked  Lady  Beauchamp  not  to  mention  the  circum¬ 
stance  to  any  one  but  Sir  Edmund,  as  she  dreaded  the 
ridicule  of  the  Miss  Waldegraves.  Lady  Beauchimp 
readily  promised  this ;  but  she  said,  “  Kemember,  in 
future,  my  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  I  must  not  hear  that 
you  walk  so  far  alone,  for  I  quite  concur  with  Dr.  El¬ 
liott,  in  thinking  it  wrong  for  you  to  do  so.” 

A  few  days  after  this  occurrence.  Sir  Edmund  an¬ 
nounced  his  intention  of  taking  all  his  family  to  Lon¬ 
don,  fixing  the  third  week  in  June  for  their  departure ; 
and  it  was  with  real  delight  that  Carleton  promised  to 
remain  at  Granby  till  that  time,  in  order  that  he  might 
then  accompany  them  to  town.  Each  day  had  seemed 
but  to  increase  in  his  susceptible  mind  the  interest 
which  had  been  awakened  towards  Kate,  but  as  yet,  he 
had  kept  his  feelings  enshrined  within  the  deep  recess¬ 
es  of  his  heart,  and  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Edmund, 
who,  in  such  cases  was  most  particularly  clear-sighted, 
no  one  had  as  yet  guessed  his  secret. 

Previously  to  their  leaving  the  country.  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ  determined  to  ask  all  her  neighbors  to  dine  at 
Granby,  and  a  very  large  party  was  arranged  for  the 
twelfth  of  J une ;  on  which  occasion,  at  Sir  Edmund's 
suggestion,  Kate  was  earnestly  requested  to  appear  at 
dinner,  indeed,  this  was  so  kindly  urged,  that  she  felt 
it  wou/  i  be  rude  to  refuse,  and,  therefore,  though  she 


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223 


from  the  thought  of  the  many  annoyances  to 
which  it  might  subject  her,  she  at  length  consented. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  present  when  the  request  was 
made,  and  watched  her  varying  countenance  with  much 
interest,  and  on  hearing  her  accept  the  invitation,  he 
'Stole  by  degrees  to  her  side,  and  in  a  very  low  tone 
said,  I  am  indeed  rejoiced  at  your  decision,  Miss‘ 
Sinclair.”  Why  did  these  few  words,  pronounced  too 
in  as  calm  and  studied  a  manner  as  he  could  assume, 
send  the  mantling  blush  to  Kate’s  sweet  face,  and 
give  to  Carleton ’s  heart  a  sensation  of  the  truest  happi* 
ness. 

On  retiring  to  rest  Kate  entered  more  closely  than 
ever  upon  her  nightly  duty  of  self-examination,  and  as 
each  exciting  feeling  of  the  last  few  days  passed  in 
review  before  her,  she  felt  that  her  existence  possessed 
indeed  some  new  charm,  some  happier  influence  than 
she  had  ever  before  experienced.  Did  she  then  love  this 
stranger  ?  “  Oh  impossible,”  she  thought ;  “  no,  no,  he 

is  very  delightful,  very  fascinating,  and  he  has  saved  my 
life  ;  surely  it  is  gratitude  alone  which  thus  interests  me 
so  much  in  his  favor  ;  but,”  she  continued,  “  how  is  it 
that  my  duties  have  for  the  last  few  days  appeared  so  irk¬ 
some  to  me?  And  then  came  the  feeling  of  regret 
which  ever  follows  the  remembrance  of  duties  neglected, 
or  but  ill-fnlfllled.  This  must  not  be,,  she  thought, 
and  now  J  will  once  more  steadily  pursue  my  allotted 
course.  She  kept  her  resolution,  and  for  some  days 
Carleton  never  saw  her  except  for  a  few  moments  late 
in  the  evenings. 

Littlo  Alice  was  now  much  improved  in  health,  and 
was  looking  forward  with  d  slight,  to  the  prospect  of 


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going  to  London.  She  had  for  some  days  been  al¬ 
lowed  to  rest  occasionally  in  the  arms  of  her  nurse 
or  her  mamma,  and  Kate  felt  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  contributing  to  her  amusements.  Henrietta  and 
Gertrude  had  made  great  progress  in  their  studies,  par¬ 
ticularly  in  music,  and  one  evening  it  was  proposed 
that  the  children  should  be  permitted  to  pass  an  hour 
in  the  drawing-room,  in  order  that  Sir  Edmund  ‘might 
hear  them  play :  this  was  a  great  indulgence,  and  they 
chatted  a  great  deal  to  nurse,  while  she  dressed  them 
for  their  visit,  and  when  at  seven  o’clock  they  were 
summoned  to  the  drawing-room,  they  looked  quite 
radiant  with  beauty  and  happiness,  -and  Kate  felt 
much  delighted  at  the  evident  satisfaction  which  their 
appearance  and  improvement  afforded  to  their  parents, 
Carleton,  too,  most  highly  applauded  their  success 
in  the  performance  of  their  pretty  duet  which  they 
played  together. 

The  Miss  Waldegraves  were  gone  to  spend  the 
day  with  a  friend  in  the  neighborhood,  and  thus  for 
once  Kate  felt  at  ease  and  happy  as  in  former  days ; 
but  she  did  not  remain  long  in  the  drawing-room,  when 
the  children  had  finished  their  visit,  she  left  tho 
room  with  them,  and  as  she  passed,  Carleton  opened 
the  door  for  her,  and  as  she.  shook  hands  with  him, 
at  parting  for  the  night,  he  whispered,  “  How  is  it 
that  I  see  you  now  so  seldom.  Miss  Sinclair?” 

These  words,  accompanied  as  they  were  with  a 
slight  pressure  of  her  soft  hand,  awakened  in  Kate’s 
mind,  fresh  food  for  a  “  curtain  lecture  ”  on  her  own 
too  great  interest  in  this  comparative  stranger,  albeit 
she  could  scarcely  banish  the  feeling  of  happiness  which 
they  had  produced. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


The  twelfth  of  June  arrived,  and  with  it  came  the  ex¬ 
pected  dinner  party  at  Granby  Hall.  Kate  Sinclair 
was  standing  at  her  window  ready  dressed,  and  looking 
more  than  usually  lovely,  when  the  first  carriage  drove 
up  to  the  Hall  door  she  instantly  retreated  and  went  to 
wish  her  little  pupils  good  night  before  she  proceeded  to 
the  drawing-room.  Little  Alice  exclaimed,  “  Oh  you 
dear  beautiful  Kate,  how  nice  you  look  in  your  pretty 
blue  dress,  such  a  sweet  colour,  so  delicate  and  so  pretty, 
I  wish  I  could  see  you  by  and  bye,  for  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  the  queen  of  the  room.” 

“  Oh  hush,  hush,  Alice,  you  are  a  naughty  little  flat¬ 
terer.”  But  Kate  knelt  by  her  side,  and  her  sweet  soft 
kisses  did  not  speak  of  much  real  displeasure.  Having 
taken  leave  of  the  little  party,  she  now  left  them  in  the 
care  of  their  good  nurse. 

A  long  passage  led  across  from  this  part  of  the  house 
to  the  grand  staircase,  and  then  by  descending  a  few  steps 
Kate  arrived  at  the  beautiful  carved  oak  door  of  the  great 
drawing-room,  which  occupied  the  whole  width  of  the 
centre  of  the  house,  and  had  corresponding  doors  at  each 
end ;  here  Kate  paused,  for  she  felt  alarmed  at  the  thought 
of  entering  the  room  alone,  but  to  her  great  relief  she 
heard  voices  in  the  hah  below,  an^  standing  aside  for  a 


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moment,  some  of  the  party  came  up  the  staircase  preceded 
by  the  butler,  who  throwing  open  the  drawing-room  door 
announced  ‘‘  Sir  Charles  and  Lafdy  Peignton  ani  the 
Miss  Peigntons,”  and  as  the  two  young  ladies  followed 
their  papa  and  mamma,  Kate  entered  at  the  same  mo- . 
ment,  and  keeping  close  by  them  avoided  the  annoyance 
of  being  alone.  As  she  passed  Carleton,  who  stood  near 
the  door,  he  whispered,  “  I  congratulate  you  on  your  good 
management,”  and  she  felt  thankful  for  the  kind  interest 
which  these  few  words  expressed.  The  half  hour  before 
dinner  is  always  a  sadly  dull  affair.  People  arrived  at 
intervals,  and'  then  formed  themselves  into  little  coteries 
much  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  until  the  magic  words 
“  Dinner  on  table.  Sir  Edmund,”  induced  a  general 
move. 

Whether  in  virtue  of  her  being  considered  as  one  of 
the  Miss  Peigntons,  or  whether  her  own  sweet  look  and 
manner  decided  the  matter,  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  but  cer¬ 
tain  it  was,  that  just  as  Carleton  reluctantly  handed  off 
Miss  Isabel  at  her  aunt’s  suggestion,  a  very  gentlemanly 
and  most  agreeable  person  came,  and  offering  his  arm  to 
Kate,  led  her  down  to  the  dining-room.  Having  followed 
Carleton,  she  found  herself  placed  at  the  table  between 
him  and  her  new  acquaintance,  and  as  her  spirits  rose  in 
proportion  as  her  mauvaise  honte  was  subdued,  she  soon 
became  lively,  and  for  a  time  lost  sight  of  her  dependent 
situation. 

The  party  was  large,  the  dinner  perfect,  and  every 
thing  succeeded  “  au  merveille and  when  the  ladies 
rose  to  leave  the  table,  Kate  hj^d  quite  lost  all  feeling  of 
embarrassment :  but  now  a  new  ordeal  awaited  her. 
l<adies  are  ofte§  mitch  greater  sticklers  for  place  and 


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227 


precedence  than  gentlemen,  and  Kate’s  extreme  beauty 
was  not  at  all  times  a  recommendation  to  favour,  so  that 
by  the  time  slie  reached  the  drawing-room,  enquiries  had 
been  made  as  to  “  who  that  lovely  girl  next  the  rich  Mr. 
Carleton  could  fee?”  and  had  been  answered  by  the  Miss 
Waldegraves  in  no  very  flattering  terms, and  but  for  Lady 
Beauchamp’s  presence  much  would  have  been  said  in  de¬ 
traction  of  the  too  lovely  I^Uss  Sinclair  ;  as  it  was,  a  select 
party  immediately  formed  round  their  hostess,  who  stood 
near  the  piano,  and  entered  into  earnest  conversation  with 
her,  excluding  Kate,  and  thus  leaving  her  alone  and  dis¬ 
trait  by  the  table  which  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room  ] 
once  or  twice  she  ventured  to  approach  the  circle,  but 
the  immense  range  of  white  uncovered  shoulders  whicff 
opposed  her  entrance  induced  her  quietly  to  retreat,  and 
at  length  she  took  up  a  book  in  self-defence.  Presently, 
however,  she  was  joined  by  a  lady,  who  seating  herself 
near  her,  pretended  for  a  moment  to  be  seeking  some  print 
or  book,  but  suddenly  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  I  fear 
Miss  Sinclair  has  quite  forgotten  ine  and  to  Kate’s 
pleased  surprise,  she  recognized  Miss  Melville,  who  as 
soon  as  she  saw  she  was  remembered,  kindly  and  cordially 
shook  hands  with  her.  This  caused  a  movement  among 
the  assembled  guests,  who  wondered  that  the  Honoura¬ 
ble  Miss  Melville  should  shake  hands  with  a  governess 
but  thus  it  ever  is,  the  highly  born  and  really  noble  have 
no  dread  of  losing  caste,  as  it  were,  by  noticing  kindly 
those  who  may  in  some  respects  possess  fewer  advantages, 
but  whose  minds  and  manners  entitle  them  to  considera* 
tion. 

Miss  Melville  conversed  most  agreeably  for  sometime, 
and  then  said,  I  should  like  to  introduce  you  to  my  two 


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nieces ;  and  taking  her  with  her  to  the  other  end  of  the 
long  room,  she  introduced  her  to  the  Miss  Annesleys,  who 
were  nice  pretty  unaffected  girls,  and  who  made  room  on 
the  sofa  for  Kate  to  join  their  little  party.  The  windows 
in  this  room  were  placed  in  very  deep  recesses,  the  floors 
of  which  being  higher  than  that  of  the  room,  were  ap¬ 
proached  by  two  very  shallow  steps,  and  when  the  rich 
crimson  curtains  were  drawn,  they  formed  complete  small 
rooms  which  were  richly  carpeted,  and  were  furnished 
with  soft  ottomans  and  couches  and  an  elegant  small 
table  for  lights;  these  recessed  windows,  three  in  number, 
were  now  lighted  with  candles  in  handsome  silver  branches, 
but  the  curtains  were  not  closed,  as  the  evening  was  warm ; 
\nd  now  coffee  is  handed  and  the  younger  ladies  divide 
into  small  parties,  some  already  occupying  couches  in  the 
recesses,  and  a  buzz  of  silvery  voices  resounds  through 
the  room ;  and  now  the  door  opens,  and  the  gentlemen 
join  the  party  ;  music  is  proposed,  and  Lady  Beauchamp 
goes  to  the  harp,  calling  her  neice  Miss  Waldegrave  to 
accompany  her  on  the  piano  ;  then  Carleton  is  asked  to 
sing,  and  the  young  ladies  are  in  ecstasies  of  delight ;  but 
as  Kate  keept  most  cautiously  aloof,  he  begins  very  soon 
to  tiro  of  the  scene,  and  presently  escapes  into  one  of  the 
window  recesses,  from  whence  he  can  observe  all  that 
takes  place  in  the  room. 

After  his  retreat,  the  young  ladies  suddenly  found  that 
the  music  had  lost  its  principal  charm,  and  by  degrees 
the  piano  was  forsaken.  Lady  Beauchamn,  seated  on 
an  ottoman  and  surrounded  by  the  elite  of  her  guests,  to 
whom  she  was  making  herself  most  agreeable,  attracted 
the  almost  envious  observation  of  those  who  were  not  of 
this  fortune-favoured  group,  and  many  were  watching  ea- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


22^ 


gerly  in  the  hope  of  securing  some  vacated  seat  near  her. 
xliiioiig  these  was  a  Mrs.  Goddard,  whose  greatest  anxie^ 
ty  at  all  times  was  to  obtain  the  notice  and  patronage  oi 
those  who  either  by  their  rank  or  fortune  held  a  higher 
place  in  society  than  herself ;  and  though  really  a  kind- 
hearted  goodnatured  woman,  she  became  splenetic  and 
almost  cross  if  she  felt  herself  excluded  from  the  princi¬ 
pal  party  in  the  room.  Moreover  she  was  somewhat  dis¬ 
posed  to  use  a  little  art  in  her  mode  of  address,  and  her 
manner  was  slightly  tinged  with  affectation.  Mr.  God¬ 
dard,  a  tall  thin  sallow  man,  with  very  straight  intracta¬ 
ble  black  hair,  which,  though  most  sedulously  pressed 
down  in  shining  masses  on  his  rather  well  shaped  head, 
resolutely  stands  out  again  straight  from  the  tem¬ 
ples,  and  requires  constant  attention  to  prevent  the  out¬ 
line  from  presenting  the  figure  of  a  well-drilled  mop. 
His  neckcloth  is  very  tight,  his  waistcoat  white,  and  his 
whole  appearance  very  juvenile  for  a  clergyman  of  eight 
and  thirty,  indeed  he  is  frequently  mistaken  for  five  and 
twenty  to  his  great  delight.  He  is  standing  close  by  Mrs, 
Goddard,  who  evidently  feels  some  alarm  lest  some  one 
should  think  her  neglected  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  so 
with  rather  an  increase  of  colour  she  tells  Edward  ” 
that  she  wishes  he  would  go  and  talk  to  Miss  Melville  or 
the  Miss  Waldegraves,  and  just  then  she  spies  out  a  va¬ 
cant  corner  next  to  Lady  Beauchamp,  of  which  she  takes 
possession  with  rather  more  haste  than  grace  ;  and  then, 
wdiile  she  hopes  she  is  unobserved,  dexterously  draws  the 
little  pink  feather  which  adorns  her  new  head  dress  into 
a  more  conspicuous  angle,  and  replaces  her  ringlets  to 
the  best  advantage  ;  then  taking  a  favourable  moment  for 
i^,ddressing  her  hostess,  she  says,  ‘‘  Dear  Lady  Beauchamp, 


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I  have  been  quite  au  desespoir  at  not  being  near  you  till 
now.  It  seems  such  a  long  time  since  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you,  and  may  I  ask  who  is  that  lovely  girl  that 
I  am  told  is  a  visiter  of  yours  ?  I  am  sure  I  quite  regret 
not  having  called  on  her  and  on  your  nieces.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp,  “  I  conclude  you  mean 
that  young  lady  in  a  pale  blue  dress 

‘‘  Ah  yes,  that  one  next  the  Miss  Annesleys.” 

“  That  is  Miss  Sinclair,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp. 

And  who  is  she.  Lady  Beauchamp  ?  a  relation  of 
yours  ?” 

“  Oh  no,  she  is  the  governess  of  my  two  little  girls.” 

Dear  me,”  said  Mrs.  Goddard,  how  very  unfortu¬ 
nate,  I  assure  you — I  really  took  her  for — ” 

“  Oh  pray  do  not  apologize,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp, 
^  I  assure  you  whatever  you  thought  of  Miss  Sinclair 
will  hardly  exceed  her  merits ;  she  is  a  perfect  lady  by 
birth  and  education,  and  I  am  only  too  happy  to  have 
such  an  excellent  person  as  the  guardian  of  my  little  girls, 
I  only  hope  they  will  follow  her  bright  example.” 

“  Dear  me,  how  very  fortunate  you  have  been.  Lady 
Beauchamp — I  find  it  so  difficult  to  find  a  proper  gov¬ 
erness  for  Charlotte  and  Matilda,  indeed  I  would  much 
rather  teach  them  myself  than  have  the  restraint  of  a 
governess  in  the  house.” 

“  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Goddard,”  said  Lady 
Beauchamp,  “it  is  our  own  fault  if  they  become  ‘a  re¬ 
straint,’  I  should  most  cautiously  choose  such  a  one  as 
would  be  a  fitting  companion  for  myself,  otherwise  I 
should  feel  no  confidence  in  allowing  her  to  direct  the 
minds  and  manners  of  my  children  ;  and  as  a  lady  al¬ 
ways  knows  hovJ  to  conduct  herself  with  propriety  and 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


23 1 

tact,  I  should  never  fear  that  I  should  be  subjected  to 
any  intrusion  or  annoyance.’’ 

Poor  Mrs.  Goddard  looked  a  little  bewildered,  and 
half  afraid  that  she  had  not  “  got  on  ”  so  well  as  usual 
with  Lady  Beauchamp,  who  had  now  turned  to  converse 
with  Lady  Peignton,  and  she  therefore  quietly  withdrew 
herself  from  the  ottoman  and  walked  towards  the  t^ble, 
where  she  found  her  husband  still  occupied  with  some 
splendid  drawings  of  Australian  scenery  ;  he  looked  up  as 
she  came  near  him  and  said,  What’s  the  matter,  Jane?’* 
to  which  she  replied  rather  pettishly,  “  Why,  matter  ? 
nothing  at  all,  I  am  spending  a  delightful  evening,  and 
Lady  Beauchamp  is  most  agreeable,  you  always  think 
something  is  going  on  wrong.” 

At  this  moment  a  tall  and  still  fine  looking  woman 
drew  near  the  Goddards,  and  with  some  little  hesitation 
bowed  to  them ;  her  salutation  was  acknowledged  with 
much  reserve  by  the  lady,  but  by  Mr.  Goddard  with 
marked  politeness  and  empressement ;  as  she  passed  on 
she  met  the  Miss  Waldegraves  crossing  the  room  with  the 
Miss  Peigntons  ;  having  known  these  young  ladies  from 
the  time  when  as  little  girls  they  used  to  visit  Granby, 
Mrs.  Singleton  offered  her  hand  with  some  show  of 
warmth,  when  to  her  great  surprise  the  tip  of  one  of  Is¬ 
abel’s  gloved  fingers  was  extended  in  return,  and  with  a 
stiff  curtsy  Miss  Waldegrave  and  her  party  swept  by  the 
surprised  Mrs.  Singleton. 

As  sopn  as  they  were  all  out  of  hearing,  Mrs.  God¬ 
dard  said,  “  I  am  quite  surprised,  Edward,  to  see  the  no¬ 
tice  you  bestow  on  that  Mrs.  Singleton  ;  did  you  not  ob¬ 
serve  the  cold  manner  in  which  those  fashionable  Miss 
Waldegraves  passed  her,  depend  upon  it  she  is  nobody 
among  ther 


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“  I  cannot  help  that,  J ane  ;  I.  know  she  is  a  perfect 
lady,  and  of  good  though  not  noble  family,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  if  Mrs.  Singleton  had  arrived  here  this  even¬ 
ing  in  her  own  carriage,  with  servants  in  handsome 
liveries,  she  would  have  been  considered  by  those  very 
girls  a  most  delightful  and  desirable  acquaintance.” 

^The  Miss  Waldegraves  and  their  companions  in  the 
mean  time  had  seated  themselves  on  a  couch  just  in 
front  of  the  spot  where  Carleton  had  for  some  time 
been  amusing  himself  by  watching  the  scenes  which  wo 
have  described,  and  he  now  hears  Isabel’s  voice  loud 
in  detraction  of  some  one.  “  Oh,”  she  said,  “  she  may 
be  very  lovely,  I  do  not  myself  think  so,  but  you  know 
people  differ  so  in  such  matters ;  but  this  I  am  sure  of, 
a  more  artful  designing  girl  I  never  met  with,  and  I 
wonder  Miss  Melville  could  think  of  noticing  her,  but 
she  does  not  know  her,  that’s  one  thing.” 

The  answer  was  given  in  so  low  a  tone  that  it  did 
not  reach  Carleton’s  ear,  and  he  did  not  know  who  was 
the  object  of  Isabel’s  attack  ;  however,  he  did  not  in¬ 
tend  to  listen,  and  he  instantly  rose  to  leave  his  place, 
when  he  was  rivetted  to  the  spot  by  hearing  her  say. 
Oh,  I  could  tell  you  such  a  story  of  that  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair  !  well,  if  you  will  not  mention  it,  I  do  not  see  why 
I  should  keep  her  secret ;  only  fancy,  she  was  seen  the 
other  day  in  Mr.  Carleton’s  arms  in  the  shrubbery,  and 
he  actually  jumped  her  over  a  stile  like  a  romping 
school  girl.” 

At  this  wickedly  perverted  story,  Carleton  lost  all 
patience,  and,  stepping  hastily  forward,  he  said,  “  Allow 
me,  Miss  Waldegrave,  to  ask  from  whom  did  you  receive 
that  intelligence,  which  has  indeed  been  most  strangel;^ 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


233 


misrepresented,  to  say  the  least  of  it and  then  turn¬ 
ing  to  Miss  Peignton,  to  whom  Isabel  had  so  cruelly 
calumniated  Kate,  he  said,  “  It  is  quite  true  that  in 
rescuing  Miss  Sinclair  from  a  furious  bull  I  was  under 
the  necessity  of  conveying  her  in  a  fainting  state  across 
a  meadow  and  of  placing  the  stile  between  her  and  the 
dangerous  animal.  I  hope,  Miss  Waldegrave,”  he 
continued,  when  next  you  speak  of  me  or  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair  you  will  use  a  little  more  charitable  discretion, 
than  you  have  on  this  occasion.”  Slightly  bowing,  with 
a  curl  on  his  lip  which  spoke  volumes  to  the  now 
frightened  Isabel,  he  left  the  room. 

Oh,  what  shame  and  vexation  filled  the  heart  of  the 
haughty  Isabel,  and  she  saw  that  Miss  Peignton  too 
was  quite  as  much  disgusted  by  her  unkind  malevo¬ 
lence  as  Carleton  himself,  and  in  a  few  moments  she 
was  left  alone  to  reflect  with  shame  upon  her  detected 
spite  ;  she  tried  to  throw  the  blame  on  Neville,  but  the 
little  monitor  within  told  her  in  plain  terms  that  she 
never  had  believed  the  story  which  she  had  so  shame¬ 
fully  promulgated  contrary  to  her  promise,  and  that 
when  she  began  to  speak  on  the  subject  she  had  felt 
convinced  in  her  own  mind  that  the  whole  had  originated 
in  some  mistake,  and  the  proud  haughty  girl  felt  all  the 
humiliation  which  she  deserved. 

Carriages  were  now  announced,  and  the  party  sepa¬ 
rated.  Miss  Melville  shook  hands  with  Kate  at  part¬ 
ing,  and  turning  to  Lady  Beauchamp  said,  “  I  have 
kn'>wn  this  young  lady  before,  and  a  brother  of  hers 
quite  won  my  heart  one  day.  By  the  bye.  Miss  Sin¬ 
clair,  I  hear  he  has  found  a  kind  patron  in  Sir  Archi¬ 
bald  Munroe,  who  is  <i  connexion  of  mine,  and  I  hope 


2S4 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


when  you  come  to  town  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  both  in - Street.’’ 

And  now  the  room  is  cleared,  and  Kate  feels  a  little, 
perhaps  not  a  little  disappointed  and  vexed  at  having 
lost  sight  of  Carleton  so  much  ;  he  had  “  scarcely 
spoken  to  her  since  dinner.”  And  when  she  laid  her 
gentle  head  upon  the  pillow^  she  buried  her  face,  and 
without  daring  to  penetrate  their  cause,  shed  tears  of 
painful  excitement. 

And  Carleton,  where  was  he?  After  leaving  the 
drawing-room  so  suddenly,  he  rushed  down  into  the 
hall,  and  snatching  a  hat  from  the  stand,  he  went  forth 
into  the  open  air  to  try  to  still  the  angry  throbbings  of 
his  excited  frame.  A  long  J)ime  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  lawn,  and  then  hastily  sought  a  more  secluded 
spot,  where  in  solitude  he  might  collect  his  scattered 
thoughts.  “  Yes,”  he  said  to  himself,  it  is  plain  that 
1  truly  love  this  dear  gentle  creature,  and  shall  I  per¬ 
mit  her  fair  fame  to  be  traduced  without  defending  her 
from  the  assaults  of  the  envious  and  malevolent  ? 
Sweet  Kate  !  to-morrow  will  I  seek  thee,  and  should 
I  fail  to  win  thy  love,  I  will  no  longer  expose  thee  to 
calumny  and  wrong.  But  what  if  her  heart  should 
already  be  devoted  to  another  ?  Yet  surely  those 
thrilling  blushes  which  have  of  late  induced  a  hope 
that  I  am  not  indifferent  to  her,  cannot  in  so  guileless 
a  creature  be  delusive.” 

Musing  thus  for  nearly  an  hour,  Carleton  con¬ 
tinued  his  lonely  walk,  and  finally  resolved  that  ere 
the  conclusion  of  another  day  his  fate  should  be  de¬ 
cided. 


CEAPTEE  XXI. 


The  following  morning  found  all  the  party  at  the  break¬ 
fast  table  gloomy  and  uncomfortable.  Isabel  was  proud 
and  sullen,  and  Julia  no  less  so,  Carleton  preoccupe  and 
unwilling  to  converse,  and  Sir  Edmund  and  Lady  Beau¬ 
champ  so  much  disconcerted  and  annoyed  at  the  ill  be¬ 
haviour  of  their  nieces,  that  they  felt  constrained  and 
silent.  However,  fortunately  for  Carleton,  it  was  pro¬ 
posed  that  Lady  Beauchamp  should  take  the  children  to 
call  on  some  friends  at  Aysheton,  a  village  at  about  ten 
miles’  distance  from  Granby,  and  as  he  left  the*  room  Sir 
Edmund  said,  “  Carleton,  I  believe  the  Miss  Walde- 
graves  intend  riding,  and  will  perhaps  be  glad  of  your 
escort.” 

Carleton  had  great  difficulty  in  restraining  the  angry 
words  which  rose  to  his  lips  ;  but  with  a  glance  at  Isabel 
which  dismissed  the  color  from  her  cheeks,  he  said,  “  I 
thank  you.  Sir  Edmund,  but  I  fear  I  must  decline  the 
honour,”  and  taking  up  a  newspaper  he  hastily  left  the 
room. 

Sir  Edmund  easily  imagined  that  he  had  been  dis¬ 
gusted  by  some  new  impertinence  of  Isabel’s,  and  as  he 
really  wished  for  an  opportunity  of  telling  her  how  much 
her  conduct  distressed  him,  he  decided  on  accompanying 
them  himself  in  their  morning  ride.  •  * 


236 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


The  cavalcade  soon  set  forth,  it  was  a  brilliant  morn¬ 
ing,  and  as  Kate  watched  them  from  her  window  taking 
their  way  through  the  park,  she  half  wished  she  could 
have  joined  the  party.  However,  after  waiting  some 
time  expecting  to  see  Carleton  follow  them,  she  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  was  not  going,  and  she  suddenly 
felt  that  she  would  much  rather  remain  quietly  at  nome ; 
but  she  thought  possibly  he  is  gone  on  in  advance.  Oh 
•  yes,  that  is  the  case,  I  dare  say,  for  he  would  not  prefer 
being  alone,  and  a  gentle  sigh  escaped  her.  Blushing 
as  she  detected  herself  indulging  in  this  little  reverie 
about  a  person  in  whom  she  could  not  really  feel  any 
particular  interest,”  Kate  resolved  to  seek  some  occupa¬ 
tion,  but  what  should  it  be  ?  The  children  were  gone 
out,  and  the  thoughts  of  the  last  evening’s  party  occu¬ 
pied  her  mind  so  much,  that  she  felt  sadly  unsettled. 
After  some  hesitation,  she  thought  she  would  take  a 
book  and  stroll  slowly  to  some  favourite  spot  in  the  park, 
where  she  might  sit  and  read  without  interruption.  As 
she  crossed  the  hall  she  met  the  butler  with  letters. 
“  Any  for  me,  Gilbert  1  ” 

“Yes,  Miss  Sinclair;”  and  looking  over  the  packet 
in  his  hand  he  gave  her  a  letter  from  her  brother  Charles. 
Takiug  this  with  her,  and  shading  herself  under  an  um¬ 
brella  from  the  burning  heat  of  the  sun,  Kate  slowly 
pursued  her  way  along  the  path  which  led  to  the  “  Fairy 
Dell,”  where  she  had  first  seen  Carleton,  the  thought  of 
whom  it  must  be  owned  occupied  her  mind  so  muiph  that 
she  almost  forgot  the  anxiety  she  had  previously  felt  to 
receive  an  account  of  her  dear  brother’s  progress  in  his 
new  situation.  On  reaching  her  favourite  spot,  however, 
she  seated  herself  on  a  shady  bank,  and  opening  Charles 
letter,  she  read  as  follows : 


Home  is  home. 


237 


«My  DEAREST  SISTER,* 

“  I  HAVE  be  ED  intending  for  some  days  to  w:ate  to 
you,  for  I  really  long  to  tell  you  some  of  the  strange 
events  which  ha\e  occurred  since  I  wrote  my  last  letter 
to  you.  I  think  I  told  you  that  soon  after  I  came  into 
this  sl^eet  to  live  I  met  our  old  friend  Miss  Hartop, 
who  said  that  she  was  now  staying  with  a  widow  lady, 
a  M.rs.  Marston  who  occupied  a  nice  house  very  near  to 
my  lodgings,  and  she  kindly  proposed  my  calling  on  her 
there,  assuring  me  that  I  should  receive  a  Kind  welcome 
from  her  friends.  I  was  of  course  very  glad  of  a  little 
change  after  my  office  duties  were  ended,  so  I  availed 
myself  of  her  kind  invitation  on  the  very  next  evening, 
and  I  can  never  forget  my  kind  reception.  Mrs.  Mars¬ 
ton  is  a  delightful  person ;  I  should  think  she  must 
be  older  than  she  appears,  but  1  almost  thought  her 
pretty,  she  has  so  sweet  an  expression  of  countenance, 
and  her  little  girls  are  quite  perfection.  Well,  after 
paying  two  or  three  visits,  for  they  insisted  on  my  com¬ 
ing  frequently,  imagine  my  surprise  when  one  evening 
that  eccentric  old  Gentleman,  Mr.  Crosby,  entered  the 
room  and  addressed  Mrs.  Marston  as  his  niece.  He 
spoke  in  his  usual  way,  so  shortly  and  almost  rudely,  that 
I  thought  of  taking  my  hat  and  wishing  him  good  even¬ 
ing  ;  however,  Mrs.  Marston  gave  me  a  kind  look  and 
I  stayed  on.  In  a  few  miputes  tea  was  announced,  and 
I  found  that  Mr.  Crosby  meant  to  stay.  When  Miss 
Hartop  and  the  girls  joined  us,  the  old  Gentleman  was 
so  kind,  so  gentle  in  his  manner  to  that  he  quite 
won  my  heart,  and  after  a  time  he  began  talking  very 
kindly  to  me  also ;  and  when  ho  went  away  ho  said, 
‘  Some  day  when  you  have  leisure,  conic  and  see  me,’  and 


238 


Home  is  home. 


he  gave  me  his  card.  You  may  be  sure,  my  dear  Kate, 
I  lost  no  time,  but  the  first  day  that  I  could  obtain  leave 
of  absence  I  went  to  visit  him ;  I  soon  found  his  house, 
which  is  not  above  a  mile  from  Belmont,  and  a  delight¬ 
fully  comfortable  place  it  is.  He  was  most  kind,  and 
talked  to  me  a  great’  deal  about  poor  little  Henry.  I 
cannot  think  why  he  feels  so  much  interest  in  children. 
I  sliall  tire  you  with  this  long  story,  Kate ;  but  I  must 
ted  you  that  since  my  visit  to  him  he  has  been  so  afiec 
ticnate  in  his  manner  that  he  seems  more  like  a  father 
than  a  person  whom  I  have  so  lately  considered  as  a 
stranger  ;  and  last  evening  When  1  returned  to  my  lodg¬ 
ings  I  found  a  present  from  him,  consisting  of  a  very 
handsome  fiute  and  a  nice  box  of  colours,  and  I  am  to 
dine  with  him  again  to-morrow.  He  wished  me  to  spend 
Sunday  with  him,  but  I  always  pass  that  day  with  my 
dear  father  and  mother ;  by  the  bye,  you  cannot  think 
how  nicely  they  are  getting  on  ;  Papa’s  pictures  sell  for 
such  a  price !  and  then  your  generous  kind  remitytance, 
dearest  sister,  and.  my  mite  as  I  call  it,  make  up  a  wel¬ 
come  increase  to  their  slender  income,  and  they  are  now, 
thank  God,  quite  comfortable  and  happy.  Honor  and 
Rory  look  as  blithe  as  larks,  and  I  suppose  soon  they 
will  be  thinking  of  entering  the  blissful  state  of  matri¬ 
mony.  Well  this  is  indeed  a  long  letter.  God  bless 
you,  my  darling  Kate. 

“  Ever  your  affectionate  brother, 

“  Charles  Sinclair.’* 

Kate  had  been  so  deeply  interested  in  her  brother’s 
letter  that  she  had  not  noticed  the  approach  of  Carle- 
ton,  who  with  gentle  steps  had  stolen  to  hef.  side,  and 


HOME  Is  HOM£. 


239 


now  wlieti  lie  addressed  her  by  name  she  started  and 
ecloured  with  pleased  surprise,  and  then  of  course  said 
that  which  was  the  least  calculated  to  remove  the  im¬ 
pression  which  her  agitation  might  have  conveyed 
when  she  blushingly  avowed  that  she  “  thought  Mr. 
Carleton  was  gone  with  the  party  to  Aysheton,”  and 
then  Carleton  is  encouraged  by  this  to  take  her  hand  and 
to  look  with  those  soft  though  brilliant  eyes  of  his  into 
her  sweet  face  while  in  tender  tones  he  says,  “  And  you 
did  think  of  me  then,  Kate !” 

It  is  the  first  time  he  ever  thus  addressed  her,  yet 
she  does  not  withdraw  her  hand  or  look  very  angry, 
so  he  takes  courage  and  begins  a  tale  of  soft  afiection, 
which  as  it  was  intended  for  her  ear  only  we  will  not 
intrude,  but  leave  him  fully  to  explain  the  rise  and  pro¬ 
gress  of  this  feeling  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  and  having 
allowed  them  a  full  hour  for  these  explanations  we  will 
venture  again  to  take  a  peep  at  them.  0  there  they  are  ! 
just  coming  forth  from  their  Fairy  Dell.  Carleton  looks 
brightly,  beamingly  happy ;  and  Kate  has  a  lovely  car¬ 
mine  tint  upon  her  cheek  which  speaks  of  emotion,  and 
the  long  fringes  of  her  deep  blue  eyes  are  still  moistened 
by  tears  of  tender  affection.  Well,  well,  it  is  a  plain 
case  ;  our  friend  Carleton  has  not  been  unsuccessful  in 
his  suit ;  and  now  they  turn  towards  tho  garden — 0  they 
have  just  seen  the  gardeners  leave  the  grounds,  for  the 
servants’  dinner  bell  rang  five  minutes  since  ; — yes,  yes, 
the  garden  will  be  a  quiet  place  for  a  tete  a  tete ;  and 
now  they  reach  the  garden  door — and  I  declare  they 
have  made  some  progress,  for  there  is  Carleton  holding 
Kate’s  hand  in  his. — As  they  enter  the  green-house 
Kate  says  “  I  fear  I  am  sadly  selfish  to  have  consented 


240 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


to  become  your  portionless  bride  and  to  bring  upon  you 
perhaps  a  share  of  the  slights  which  my  dependent 
situation  has  produced ; — what  will  your  friends,  your 
family  say,  Mr.  Carleton,  to  your  choosing  an  humble 
governess  in  preference  to  one  of  higher  rank  and 
fortune 

.  I,  too,  my  dear  Miss  Sinclair — ^pshaw,  no,  I  must 
call  you  my  own  dear  Katet  I  now ! — well  then, 

my  own  Kate,  1  have  a  confession  to  make  which  may 
induce  you  to  think  that  even  in  respect  of  birth  and 
rank  you  are  my  superior,  though  I  trust  what  I  shall 
confide  to  you  will  not  lead  to  any  change  in  your  senti¬ 
ments  towards  me.  You  talk  of  my  family, — alas!  I 
have  none,  or  at  least  none  who  acknowledge  me.  I  was  sent 
to  England  for  education  by  a  gentleman  in  India  who  had 
adopted  me,  and  who  afterwards  left  me  all  his  property, 
and  the  circumstances  which  induced  him  to  protect  me 
are  known  to  my  guardian.  Sir  Archibald  Monroe,  but  as 
he  thought  a  knowledge  of  them  would  serve  only  to  un¬ 
settle  me,  he  has  hitherto  refused  to  explain  them — but 
you  will  not  desert  me,  Kate,  even  if  I  should  prove  to 
be  of  less  noble  extraction  than  yourself?” 

A  gentle  pressure  of  the  arm  on  which  she  leant  was 
her  only  reply ;  but  presently  she  said,  “  You  have 
agreed  that  I  ought  not  to  promise  to  be  yours,  Mr. 
Carleton,  till  I  have  written  to  obtain  my  parents’  con¬ 
sent,  and  I  think  I  must  not  meet  you  again  on  this 
subject  till  you  receive  their  answer ;  do  you  acquiesce 
in  this  opinion,  and  am  I  permitted  to  tell  my  kind 
friend  here  what  has  already  passed  between  us  ?” 

“  0  yes,  certainly,”  replied  Carleton,  although  it 
must  be  confessed  he  felt  unwilling  to  wait  so  long  ere 
he  c(  uld  claim  another  interview  with  his  beloved  Kate. 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


241 


On  her  return  to  the  house  Kate  went  instantly  to 
her  room,  well  pleased  to  find  that  Lady  Beauchamp  and 
the  rest  of  the  party  were  not  yet  come  back  from  their 
excursion,  and  long  and  pleasantly  did  she  muse  on  the 
happy  prospect  which  now  opened  before  her ; — yes,  she 
felt  that  she  truly  loved  the  generous,  unselfish  young 
man  who  had  thus  for  her  sake  braved  the  opinions  of 
the  world  by  seeking  as  his  wife  one  who  had  been  occupy¬ 
ing  a  situation  of  dependence,  and  whose  portionless  state 
would  have  deterred  most  men  of  his  pretensions  from 
such  an  engagement.  She  now  sat  down  and  wrote  an 
account  of  all  that  had  taken  place  to  her  mother,  and 
confessed  to  that  most  tender  friend  the  real  state  of 
her  affections.  In  the  meantime  Carleton  wrote  to  Mr. 
Sinclair,  and  confided  to  him  his  sincere  attachment  for 
Kate,  explaining  fully  such  of  his  circumstances  as  he 
deemed  needful,  and  earnestly  entreating  his  sanction  to 
an  engagement  on  which,  as  he  said,  “  his  future  happi¬ 
ness  depended.**  And  now,  though  nothing  doubting 
that  the  answer  to  his  letter  would  be  a  favourable  one,  ho 
resolves  to  await  its  arrival  before  he  permits  his  secret 
to  be  generally  known  in  the  family  circle,  although  to¬ 
wards  Sir  Edmund  and  Lady  Beauchamp  he  thinks  it 
right  to  lay  aside  all  reserve :  receiving  from  them  the 
most  earnest  and  sincere  congratulations,  his  heart  is 
filled  with  delight  as  they  enlarge  upon  the  merits  of  the 
sweet  and  amiable  character  of  her  whom  he  now  hopes 
ere  long  will  be  his  bride. 

Lady  Beauchamp  lost  no  time  in  seeking  Kate,  and 
her  gentle  sympathy,  so  sweetly  expressed,  induces  the 
trembling  girl  to  hide  her  blushing  face  on  the  shoulder 
of  this  kind  friend,  who  impresses  on  her  cheek  a  kiss  of 
11 


242 


HOME  rs  HOME. 


tender  sympathy,  and  whispers,  “  God  bless  you,  mj 
dearest  Kate !” 

But  despite  their  wish  and  intention  to  keep  thei? 
secret  for  a  time,  they  find  it  almost  impossible  to  evade 
the  scrutiny  of  Miss  Isabel’s  jealous  eyes  ;  she  really 
seems  to  have  no  occupation  but  that  of  watching  them, 
and  it  is  plain  that  she  takes  every  opportunity  of  inter¬ 
rupting  any  word  or  look  which  she  fancies  betrays  in¬ 
terest  towards  each  other,  and  then  she  wearies  her  siste? 
with  ill-natured  animadversions  upon  ‘‘  that  governess,” 
as  she  now  always  calls  her. 

One  evening  Garleton  asked  Kate  to  sing  a  favourite 
little  song  of  his,  the  concluding  words  of  which  were^ 
‘‘  I’ll  never  cease  loving  thee,” — and  sweetly,  thrillingly 
she  sings,  while  her  lover  stands  close  by  her  side;  he  con¬ 
trived  as  he  thought  unobserved  to  whisper,  “  'Remember 
I  shall  dai/n  this  as  a  promise^  Kate  but  on  looking 
up,  Isabel  as  usual  had  her  large  eyes  fixed  upon  them 
both,  and  when  she  retired  for  the  night  she  told  Julia 
that  as  to  ‘  that  governess,’  it  was  quite  disgraceful  the 
way  in  which  she  was  trying  to  entrap  Henry  Carleton, 
and  that  her  songs  were  sung  entirely  for  that  purpose 
she  knew.” 

“  Ah  Miss,”  said  Neville,  I  believe  she  will  be  clever 
enough  to  win  him,  for  from  all  I  hear  she  is  likely  enough 
to  be  Mrs.  Garleton  some  day.” 

“I  wish,  Neville,  said  Isabel,  you  would  keep  your 
opinions  to  yourself ;  I  declare  I  am  astonished  that  any 
one  should  pretend  to  think  that  Mr.  Carleton  would 
lower  himself  by  marrying  a  governess  !” 

Neville,  who  felt  a  secret  pleasure  in  tormenting  her 
proud  ill-conducted  young  lady,  now  looked  so  provok- 


Mo  ME  IS  lioME. 


243 


ihgly  sly  and  smiled  with  so  much  meaning,  that  Isabel 
Was  quite  thrown  off  her  guard,  and  she  said  in  a  haughty 
imperious  manjier,  “  I  request,  Neville,  you  will  instant¬ 
ly  leave  the  room,  and  never  again  dare  to  mention  this 
subject  in  my  presence.” 

Neville,  who  was  at  the  moment  engaged  in  folding 
her  young  lady’s  muslin  dress  which  she  had  just  taken 
off,  now  hastily  and  almost  rudely  threw  it  across  the 
back  of  a  chair,  and  tossing  her  head  obeyed  the  imperh 
ous  mandate,  leaving  Isabel  rather  at  a  lose  how  to  dis* 
pense  with  her  services.  Very  angry  and  irritated  she 
now  found  the  room  oppressively  warm,  and  pettishly 
approaching  the  Window  she  threw  it  open,  admitting  a 
sudden  draught  of  air  which  instantly  extinguished  her 
light :  it  was  however  a  bright  moonlight  night,  so  for  a 
few  moments  she  stood  enjoying  the  effect  of  the  cooling 
breeze  upon  her  heated  brow.  Meantime  Julia  had 
escaped,  not  liking  to  remain  with  her  sister  while  she 
Was  under  the  influence  of  ill-humour,  and  Kate  Sinclair 
had  been  sitting  quietly  reading  for  a  few  minutes  in  her 
own  room,  but  at  this  moment  she  felt  greatly  inclined 
to  steal  into  little  Alice’s  nursery,  as  she  thought  the 
child  had  looked  a  little  feverish  when  she  went  to  bed. 
Putting  on  a  shawlj  therefore,  over  her  dressing-gown^ 
she  gently  approached  the  couch  of  the  now  sleeping  Al¬ 
ice.  Setting  down  her  candle,  she  knelt  by  the  side  of 
the  little  invalid  and  gently  kissed  her  sweetly-parted 
lips.  At  this  motneiit  a  shriek  from  Isabel’s  room 
alarmed  her,  and  in  another  instant  she  distinctly  heard 
the  words,  “  0  help  !  some  one  help  me  !  Fire  !  fire  !” 

Snatching  a  large  woollen  cloak  of  the  nurse’s  which 
hung  in  the  room,  Kate  rushed  towards  Miss  Walde> 


244 


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grave’s  apartment,  where  to  her  horror  she  perceived 
Isabel,  with  her  dress  on  fire,  vainly  endeavouring  to  stop 
the  progress  of  the  flames  which  had  already  nearly  con¬ 
sumed  the  miiSlin  frock  which  Neville  had  thrown  on  the 
chair.  With  admirable  presence  of  mind  Kate  rushed 
towards  her,  cautiously  holding  the  Woollen  cloak  so  as 
to  prevent  the  flames  from  communicating  with  her  owti 
thin  dressing-gown,  then  wrapping  the  cloak  all  over  the 
terrified  girl  she  presently  succeeded  in  putting  out  the 
flames,  though  not  before  poor  Isabel’s  beautiful  neck  and 
arms  were  much  scorched  and  her  hair  slightly  singed. 
All  this  was  the  work  of  a  few  seconds.  Kate  now  gen¬ 
tly  placed  Isabel  on  her  bed,  and  then  ran  to  fetch  Ne¬ 
ville,  who  however  had  no  inclination  to  render  any  as¬ 
sistance  and  angrily  muttered  that  Miss  Waldegravo 
inight  help  herself  if  she  liked.  Kate  lost  no  time  in 
''returning  to  Isabel’s  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  Neville 
appeared  :  on  examination  they  found  that  Isabel,  though 
in  very  great  pain  and  alarm,  had  sustained  no  great  de¬ 
gree  of  injury,  and  as  she  did  not  seem  inclined  to  avail 
herself  of  Kate’s  services  any  longer,  she  soon  left  her  in 
Neville’s  charge,  thinking  it  unnecessary  to  disturb  Lady 
Beauchamp  or  to  call  any  other  member  of  the  family  ; 
she  determined  however  to  sit  for  some  time  in  her  room 
before  she  went  to  bed,  in  case  any  further  help  should 
fee  needful,  and  she  almost  immediately  afterwards  heard 
Neville  pass  her  door  with  a  hasty  step.  After  waiting 
nearly  half-an-hour  longer,  thinking  every  moment  that 
the  servant  Would  return,  she  began  to  feel  assured  that 
poor  Isabel  was  left  alone  for  the  night,  and  thinking  she 
must  be  suffering  very  much  from  pain  and  from  the  , 
tilarmed  state  of  her  spirits,  she  again  crept  softly  to  hor 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


245 


bedside,  and  found  her  so  much  worse  than  she  had  anti¬ 
cipated  that  she  offered  to  bathe  the  shoul<^ers  with  a 
cooling  lotion.  Confused  and  really  ill,  Isabel  did  not 
recognize  her  kind  assistant,  but  concluding  it  was  her 
servant  she  asked  for  something  to  drink  in  her  usual 
peremptory  cross  tone,  which  rather  disconcerted  Kate  ; 
however  she  thought  to  herself,  “  Well,  she  is  in  sad 
pain,  poor  girl,  I  must  make  allowances  for  her,”  and  re¬ 
turning  to  her  own  room  she  carefully  selected  such 
things  from  her  little  medicine  chest  as  she  thought  might 
tend  to  allay  the  burning  heat  of  the  scorched  arms  and 
neck.  Accustomed  for  a  long  time  to  attend  the  poor  and 
to  administer  to  their  wants,Kate  well  knew  what  would  be 
most  efficacious  in  this  case,  and  taking  with  her  a  slight 
sudorific  she  again  went  to  the  suffering  girPs  assistance, 
and  firmly  but  gently  she  applied  all  the  needful  reme¬ 
dies,  nor  did  she  leave  Isabel  for  the  whole  of  the  night 
though  she  continued  sleeping,  or  rather  dozing,  even 
while  Kate  was  employed  in  applying  her  cooling  reme¬ 
dies. 

Towards  the  dawn  of  day  Isabel  roused  herself  from 
the  sort  of  lethargy,  into  which  she  had  been  thrown  by 
her  medicine,  and  quietly  opening  the  curtain  of  her  bed, 
she  was  surprised  at  seeing  Kate  sitting  in  her  loose 
dressing-gown,  reading.  Uttering  a  cry  of  surprise,  she 
said,  “Miss  Sinclair! — you  here?  where  then  is  Ne¬ 
ville?” 

Kate  gently  drew  near  her,  and  said,  “  Pray  be  calm, 
Miss  Waldegrave.  I  am  here  because  I  could  not  bear 
to  remain  sleeping  while  you  were  alone  and  suffering 
such  pain.” 

Isabel,  yes^  the  haughty  Isa'iel,  buried  her  face  on  her 


24G 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


pillow,  and  wept  tears  of  shame  and  remorse.  She 
knew  now  whose  were  the  gentle,  kind  hands  which  had, 
through  the  weary  hours  of  the  long  night,  been  minis¬ 
tering  to  her  ease  and  comfort ;  and  though  still  too  proud 
to  confess  her  faults  aloud,  yet  she  vainly  tried  to  still 
the  monitor  within  which  so  loudly  proclaimed  her  un¬ 
worthiness  of  such  consideration  at  Miss  Sinclair’s 
hands.  Kate  now  again  attended  to  her  injuries,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  that  all  inflammation  was 
irapidly  disappearing,  and  to  Isabel’s  question,  “  Do  you 
think  I  shall  be  much  disfigured  she  answered  cheer- 
ingly  and  encouragingly  that  she  hoped  and  believed  no 
scar  even  would  remain. 

As  soon  as  the  servants  were  up,  Kate  sent  off  a 
groom  to  fetch  the  nearest  surgeon,  who  soon  arrived, 
and  after  complimenting  Miss  Sinclair  on  her  care  and 
skill,  pronounced  a  full  confirmation  of  her  opinion  that 
Isabel  would  very  soon  lose  all  the  ill  effects  of  her  acci¬ 
dent,  which  she  ngw  explained  had  arisen  from  her  hav¬ 
ing  dropped  a  vesta  match  upon  the  muslin  dress  near 
which  she  was  standing  in  the  dark  after  her  candle  had 
been  extinguished  by  the  opening  pf  her  window. 

In  a  few  days  Isabel  was  again  able  to  join  the  party 
below,  and  every  one  observed  that  even  on  her  ill-regu 
lated  mind  this  lesson  of  gentle  forbearance  and  forgive¬ 
ness  of  injuries  had  not  been  thrown  away;  for  during 
the  short  time  which  remained  of  her  stay  at  Granby, 
Isabel  never  again  spoke  of  Kate  with  unkindness  or  dis¬ 
respect,  and  on  the  day  of  her  departure  she  sought  an 
opportunity  of  taking  leave  of  the  kind-hearted  girl,  and 
said,  while  holding  her  hand,  “  Can  you  forgive  me  V' 
A  kindly  pressure  of  Kate’s  soft  hand  was  the  only  an- 


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247 


ewer,  l)ut  tlie  gentle,  tearful  look  by  which  it  was  accom¬ 
panied  spoke  volumes  to  the  now  penitent  heart  of  Isabel 
Waldegrave. 

Soon  after  the  departure  of  the  Miss  Waldegraveshad 
taken  place,  a  letter  arrived  from  Mr.  Sinclair,  containing, 
•as  might  have  been  expected,  a  full  consent  to  Carleton’s 
proposal — and  now  her  engagement  is  openly  avowed,  and 
a  few  days  of  perfect  happiness  intervene  before  they 
leave  the  scene  which  has  given  rise  to  so  much  interest 
to  both,  and  Lady  Beauchamp  kindly  made  such  arrange¬ 
ments  as  should  leave  Kate  free  to  occupy  her  time  a« 
might  be  most  pleasant  to  her,  while  she  herself  devoted 
her  mornings  te  her  children.  Kate  frequently  went  with 
€arleton  to  visit  the  poor  people  at  Granby,  and  more 
than  one  ill-timed  though  kindly-intended  remark  brought 
to  Kate's  cheek  that  ready  blush  of  soft  emotion  so  pre¬ 
cious  in  the  eyes  of  her  lover.  Old  blind  William  had 
heard  from  the  servants  at  the  Hall  that  Miss  Sinclair 
was  to  be  married  to  the  rich  Mr.  Carleton,  and  one  day 
when  they  were  standing  at  his  garden  gate  talking  to 
him  he  said,  “  Well,  Miss,  I  pray  the  Lord  night  and  day 
that  you  and  the  noble  gentleman  may  ind  true  happi¬ 
ness  and  live  together  in  unity  and  love  all  the  days  of 
your  life to  which  Carleton  said,  “  Thanks,  my  good 
•old  friend,  I  must  say  Amen  to  that  kind  wish,”  and  as 
he  turned  away  he  pressed  the  hand  of  his  beloved  Kate 
and  whispered,  “  You,  too,  dearest,  will  add  yours^  wM 
you  not  — and  now  they  crossed  the  green  and  strolled 
to  Dr.  Elliott’s,  who  received  them  with  much  affection  ; 
when  they  had  been  with  him  a  few  minutes  in  his  com-^ 
fortable  study  he  said,  “  My  dear  young  friends,  I  am 
€Uire  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  venture  to  express  to  you 


248 


HOME  rs  HOME. 


the  joy  I  feel  at  hearing  of  your  mutual  attachment 
nothing  could  have  given  me  more  sincere  pleasure ;  and 
when  it  shall  please  the  Almighty  to  bid  my  labours 
cease,  I  shall  truly  rejoice  in  the  happiness  which  will 
await  my  precious  flock,  for  I  am  certain  you,  my  dear 
Mr.  Carlcton,  will  never  lose  sight  of  their  eternal  inter¬ 
ests,  and  my  sweet  Kate  will  I  am  sure  be  a  tender  com¬ 
forting  friend  to  all  my  people.  May  God  bless  you  both 
and  make  you  truly  happy.” 

We  must  now  pass  over  some  little  time  ; — Granby 
Hall  is  deserted,  aiid  Sir  Edmund  and  all  his  family  have 
just  taken  possession  of  a  nice  house  very  near  to  Sir 
Archibald  Munroe’s  ;  Kate  is  the  acknowledged  fiancee 
of  Carleton,  though  she  still  fulfils  her  duties  as  govern¬ 
ess  to  her  dear  little  pupils,  for  she  feels  that  her  parents 
still  require  her  aid. 

Soon  after  her  arrival  in  London  she  went  to  see  all 
the  dear  party  in - Street  and  found  them  still  occu¬ 

pying  the  room  which  she  and  Charles  had  so  skilfully 
arranged  on  their  first  arrival  there.  It  would  be  impos¬ 
sible  to  describe  the  joy  which  her  return  conveyed  to 
the  happy  group  assembled  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  it  was 
as  sincere,  as  unfeigned  joy  and  happiness  as  ever  befell 
mortal  creatures.  Honor  wept  aloud  as  usual,  and  as 
usual  read  an  Irish  lecture  upon  the  “  fools  of  tares  ” 
which  always  did  so  trouble  her ;  the  children  never  tired 
of  looking  at  her  dear  face ;  Miss  Moffat  was  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight,  and  all  hailed  with  the  truest  pleasure 
a  renewed  intercourse  with  one  so  dearly  and  justly 
beloved 

A  few  days  after  Kate’s  first  visit  to  her  parents.  Sir 
Edmund  proposed  that  a  general  reunioQi  should  take 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


249 


place  at  his  house,  and  Carleton  listened  with  much 
pleasure  to  the  proposed  arrangement.  “  Thursday  will 
be  dear  Kate’s  birthday,”  said  Lady  Beauchamp,  “  and  I 
am  sure  they  would  all  like  to  pass  that  day  with  her.” 

“Well,  then,”  said  Sir  Edmund,  “will  you  write  a 
note  to  invite  them  all  for  that  day,  my  dear  Gertrude, 
and  I  will  get  Sir  Archibald  to  join  our  party.  Per¬ 
haps,  Carleton,”  he  added,  “  you  and  Kate  will  convey 
our  invitation,  and  bring  us,  I  hope,  a  satisfactory  an¬ 
swer.” 

Carleton,  who  really  wished  to  become  acquainted 
with  a  family  in  whom  he  felt  so  deeply  interested, 
readily  accepted  this  commission,  and  he  had  no  diffi¬ 
culty  in  persuading  Kate  to  accompany  him  in  his  walk 

to - Street.  We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  manner  of 

Carleton’s  introduction  to  the  family  of  his  beloved 
Kate,  but  it  will  be  as  well  to  say  that  they  were  all 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  and  that  Mrs.  Sinclair 
was  quite  charmed  with  her  handsome  gentlemanly  son- 
in-law  elect,  and  felt  not  a  little  elated  at  her  dear  Kate’s 
good  fortune. 

The  invitation  was  cordially  accepted,  and  the  two 
little  girls  were  made  happy  by  a  special  little  note  from 
Lady  Beauchamp  requesting  that  they  would  come  in 
the  morning  and  spend  the  whole  day  with  her  chil¬ 
dren. 

On  leaving - Street,  Carleton  and  Kate  proceeded 

to  call  on  Miss  Hartop  at  Mrs.  Marston’s,  having  previ¬ 
ously  appointed  that  Charles  should  meet  'them  there. 
When  they  arrived,  however,  the  servant  told  them  that 
Charles  was  not  yet  come,  but  would  soon  be  there,  and 
they  went  into  the  drawing-room  to  wait  for  him.  On 
11* 


250 


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entering  they  perceived  an  old  gentleman  standing  at 
the  window  evidently  watching  for  some  one,  but  as  he 
did  not  move  or  turn  his  head  they  all  sat  down  to  await 
Charles’s  arrival.  Presently  Miss  Hartop  came  into 
the  room  and  received  Kate  with  affectionate  warmth, 
and  then  turning  to  Carle  ton  she  held  out  her  hand  and 
said,  “  I  must  not  wait  for  a  formal  introduction  to  you, 
Mr.  Carleton,  you  will  I  am  sure  pardon  this  freedom 
in  an  old  friend  of  Miss  Sinclair’s.” 

During  this  somewhat  lengthy  speech  the  old  gentle¬ 
man  had  stolen  a  look  of  interest  towards  the  party,  and 
now  came  forward,  and  looking  earnestly  at  Kate,  he  said, 
“  Miss  Sinclair,  hey  ?  Charles  Sinclair’s  sister,  I  pre¬ 
sume  and  Kate  holds  out  her  hand  with  her  own 
peculiar  frank  manner,  and  says,  “  I  am  truly  glad  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  thanking  Mr.  Crosby  for  all  his 
kindness  to  my  dear  brother.” 

“  Pshaw  !  pshaw  !  I  won’t  have  thanks  from  any 
body — but  however  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Miss  Sinclair, 
and  here  comes  Charles,  who  will  I  daresay  be  still  more 
pleased  to  see  you ;”  and  now  Charles  rushes  in  and 
embraces  Kate  with  such  warmth  that  the  rest  of  the 
party  laugh  at  him,  and  then  he  is  introduced  to  Carle- 
ton,  V  ho  shakes  hands  with  him  with  real  affectionate 
interest,  and  then  Charles  introduces  Carleton  to  his 
kind  friend  Mr.  Crosby,”  upon  which,  to  his  great  sur¬ 
prise,  the  old  gentleman,  with  his  usual  abruptness  and 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  walks  to  the  window,  and 
after  standing  there  a  few  moments,  makes  one  of  his 
hasty  retreats,  and  is  seen  no  more  that  day,  and  Charles 
feels  convinced  that  he  has  thought  it  a  liberty  in  him 
to  venture  unasked  to  introduce  a  stranger  to  his  notice, 


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251 


wiiicli  occasions  him  some  uneasiness,  hut  he  is  a  good 
deal  cheered  by  the  kind  manner  of  his  new  friend 
Carleton,  and  gladly  accepts  the  kind  invitation  from 
Sir  Edward ;  Miss  Hartop  too  is  included,  and  gladly 
promises  to  join  the  party. 

The  evening  after  this  meeting  at  Mrs.  Marston’s,  our 
old  acquaintance  Mrs  Fairly  was  looking  over  the  blind 
of  the  open  window  of  her  own  little  room  at  Mr.  Cros' 
by’s.  The  roses  are  in  rich  bloom,  and  the  perfume  of 
the  sweet  mignionette  beneath  her  window  is  a  most  es¬ 
pecial  delight  to  the  worthy  old  housekeeper,  who  is 
talking  to  some  one  on  the  lawn.  “  W ell,  as  I  was  say¬ 
ing,  Flitters,  I  can  assure  you  the  favor  that  Master 
feels  for  that  young  gentleman  is  quite  surprising,  and  I 
really  do  think  it  will  end  in  his  coming  to  live  here  alto¬ 
gether  ; — well,  I  like  the  dear  lad,  I  will  own ;  but  1 
want  to  find  out  why  master  is  so  very  pertickler  fond 
him.” 

“  Didn’t  you  say,  Fairly,  that  your  master  had  a  child 
once?  and  mightn’t  this  Master  Sinclair  put  him  in 
mind  of  him  some  way,  don’t  you  think?”  said  Mrs. 
Flitters. 

“  0  no,”  said  Fairly,  “  I  cannot  find  out  that  ever  he 
had  a  child,  and  now  that  I  know  he  is  so  fond  of  his 
niece’s  children  I  think  ’tis  a  sort  of  insanity  like  that 
makes  him  so  anxious  after  children.  Well  I  declare, 
there  is  Master  Charles  just  coming ;  however,  master’s 
ill  a  fine  mood,  I  can  tell  him ;  and  if  he  can  make  him  in 
a  good  humour  it’s  more  than  I  can  to-day”  And  now 
the  bell  rings,  and  Fairly  goes  to  open  the  door  for 
Charles,  who  enters  without  saying  a  word,  places  hia 
hat  on  the  stand,  and  turns  in  at  the  door  which  leads  to 


252 


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the  room  we  have  before  described  as  Mr.  Crosby^s 
study.  Here,  seated  in  his  easy  chair,  he  finds  his  good 
old  friend,  and  Charles  feels  a  little  vexed  at  perceiving 
that  he  is  less  warm  and  cordial  than  he  has  been  of  late  ; 
so  the  moment  Fairly  has  closed  the  door,  Charles  says, 
“  I  fear,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  displeased  you,  and  I  am 
come  to  apologize.” 

No,  no,  not  a  bit,  my  dear  boy.  I  am  sadly  tired, 
but  have  patience  with  me,  and  this  dark  hour  will  pass 
away :  but  be  assured  you  have  not  vexed  me.  Come, 
Charles,  sit  down ;  I  like  your  open,  manly  ways,  my 
dear  boy,  and  when  I  see  any  fault  you  will  not  find  it 
out  by  any  churlishness  on  my  part.  No,  no;  I  shall 
tell  you  in  plain  English  that  I  am  not  pleased,  but  I 
am  too  much  your  real  friend  to  withdraw^from  you  in 
anger :  and  now,  Charles,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
tell  you  the  cause  of  all  that  you  think  strange  in  me, 
and  by  and  bye  you  shall  hear  all  my  sad  story ;  but  as 
we  shall  be  interrupted  if  I  begin  it  immediately,  we 
will  for  a  time  defer  it.  So  now  ring  the  bell,  and  let  us 
have  some  coffee.” 

But  the  explanation  was  not  then  to  take  place,  fox' 
almost  immediately  after  the  tea-things  were  withdiawn, 
Mr.  Crosby  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room,  and  Charles 
felt  quite  shocked  at  the  expression  of  anguish  which 
the  old  man’s  face  assumed ;  and  after  a  long  and  inef¬ 
fectual  struggle,.he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
sinking  into  his  chair,  said  in  broken  accents,  “  Not  now, 
not  now ;  another  time,  dear  boy,  when  I  am  better,  you 
^hall  know  all,  but  leave  me  now :”  and  Charles  gently  and 
kindly  soothed  him  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  obeyed 
his  request,  and  left  him  alone  with  his  sorrow.  But  ^ 


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253 


Fairly  lighted  him  to  find  his  hat,  he  said,  “  I  think  youi 
good  master  seems  very  ill  to-night,  Mrs.  Fairly ;  per¬ 
haps  you  will  see  him  presently.”  ,  And  Fairly  promis¬ 
ing  to  pay  him  every  attention,  civilly  wished  Charles 
good  night  as  she  closed  the  door. 

Kate’s  bir^iday  is  arrived,  and  what  a  sweet  smiling, 
creature  she  looks  as  she  enters  the  elegant  morning 
room  where  all  the  party  are  assembled  to  greet  her  with 
words  of  love  and  affection.  Carleton  claims  her  first 
notice,  and  then  follow  her  own  two  little  pet  sisters 
Emily  and  Rose,  who  bring  forward  with  them  sweet 
Henrietta  and  Gertrude,  and  there  seated  in  an  easy  chair 
is  the  patient  little  Alice,  who  presents  Kate  with  a  lovely 
nosegay ;  and  then  Sir  Edmund  and  Lady  Beauchamp 
come  in  to  join  the  group,  and  Sir  Edmund  begs  her  to 
accept  a  most  elegant  watch  and  chain  as  a  keepsake, 
and  this  is  the  signal  for  a  whole  shower  of  birthday 
offerings,  and  Kate  is  almost  overpowered  by  the  kind¬ 
ness  and  affection  of  all  these  dear  friends.  Later  in  the 
day  her  dear  father  and  mother  arrive,  and  soon  after 
Charles  makes  his  appearance,  and  by  the  time  the  dres 
sing  bell  rings,  all  are  become  quite  intimately  acquainted 
with  each  other,  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  finds  herself  quite 
cosily  settling  plans  for  Kate  with  Lady  Beauchamp, 
who  half  an  hour  before  was  a  comparative  stranger. 

When  they  met  in  the  drawing-room  before  dinner, 
they  found  only  in  addition  to  their  family  party  Miss 
Hartop  and  Sir  Archibald  Munroe,  who  was  evidently 
greatly  surprised  at  Kate’s  surpassing  beauty,  and  from 
the  moment  she  entered  the  room  he  devoted  the  whole 
of  his  attention  to  her. 

As  soon  as  the  party  were  assembled  Sir  Edmund 


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said,  find,  Carletpn,  you  and  Sir  Aiiliibald  have 
determined  to  take  this  oj^portunity  of  explaining  fully 
the  circumstances  which  led  to  his  guardianship  of  you ; 
and  as  all  who  are  most  interested  in  this  recital  are 
present,  I  propose  that  after  dinner  we  meet  in  my 
study,  in  order  ta  hear  some  papers  read  on  this 
subject.” 

'The  party  having  acquiesced,  Sir  Edmund  led  the 
way  with  Mrs.  Sinclair,  and  all  were  soon  seated  at  the 
dinner  table  :  Carleton,  of  course,  was  next  to  Kate,  and 
seeing  her  look  a  little  grave,  he  said,  “  Do  not  fear, 
dearest  Kate,  I  am  sure  we  have  nothing  to  dread  from 
Sir  Archibald’s  statement,  and  I  shall  really  be  quite 
thankful  when  I  am  freed  from  all  sense  of  mystery  and 
uncertainty.” 

Miss  Hartop,  who  was  sitting  on  Carleton’s  right 
hand,  said,  “  Perhaps,  Mr.  Carleton,  you  would  prefer 
my  joining  the  children’s  party  after  dinner,  for  as  I 
am  a  stranger,  you  may  not  like  me  to  be  present 
during  the  explanation  of  which  Sir  Archibald  spoke 
just  now  ?” 

“  A  stranger,  my  good  lady,”  said  Carleton ;  “  par¬ 
don  me,  but  I  am  presuming  enough  to  hope  that  all  the 
friends  of  Miss  Sinclair  will  permit  me  to  share  their 
kindly  feeling,  and  will  extend  to  me  the  friendship 
which  heretofore  has  belonged  exclusively  to  her  dear 
self :  no,  no,  I  must  indeed  consider  you^  at  all  events, 
in  the  light  of  an  old  friend,  and  I  beg  you  will  not 
hesitate  to  join  us  in  the  study.” 

When  the  ladies  left  the  dining-room  they  all  pro¬ 
ceeded  at  once  to  Sir  Edmund’s  private  study,  and  here 
in  a  few  minutes  they  were  joined  by  the  now  impatient 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


255 


Carleton  and  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen,,  and  almost 
immediately  Sir  Archibald  entered,  and  placed  on 
the  table  a  small  packet  containing  letters,  and  a 
larger  one,  the  contents  of  which  for  a  time  he  kept 
concealed. 

He  immediately  opened  the  interesting  subject  by 
saying,  “  I  believe  I  must  begin  my  story,  Carleton, 
from  a  period  which  some  time  preceded  my  knowledge 
of  you.  I  was,  as  you  know,  in  the  early  part  of  my 
life  in  India  for  some  years,  and  here  it  was  my  good 
fortune  to  become  the  intimate  friend  of  a  gentleman 
who  held  a  very  high  civil  appointment,  and  who  had 
just  married  a  most  lovely  and  attractive  woman ;  this 
friend,  whose  name  was  Fortescue,  became  much  attached 
to  me,  and  I  can  truly  say  I  felt  for  him  a  brother’s  love, 
and  for  three  years  after  his  marriage  I  spent  the  great¬ 
er  part  of  my  time  in  his  house.  Mrs.  Fortescue  was 
some  years  younger  than  her  husband,  and  after  the  birth 
of  a  lovely  boy  she  became  very  delicate,  and  at  length 
she  was  ordered  to  England  by  her  medical  advisers,  and 
Fortescue  immediately  determined  to  accompany  her. 
On  their  arrival  in  this  country  Fortescue  instantly  wrote 
to  me,  telling  me  that  there  appeared  but  small  reason  to 
hope  that  his  beloved  wife  would  be  spared,  and  shortly 
after  I  learnt  that  she  was  taken  from  him,  and  that  the 
child  was  in  a  most  precarious  state.  I  will  not  dwell  on 
this  part  of  my  story  ;  the  child  died,  and  my  friend  re¬ 
turned  to  India  almost  immediately.  On  his  arrival  at 

B - he  sent  for  me,  and  I  went  instantly  to  him,  when 

to  my  surprise  I  found  him  seated  in  his  bungalow  with 
a  most  interesting  and  lovely  child  sleeping  in  his  arms, 
delicate,  frail  as  the  little  creature  was,  his  bea  utiful  curb 


256 


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ing  hair,  and  long  silken  eyelashes  now  softly  reposing 
on  his  downy  cheek,  awakened  in  my  mind  the  liveliest 
admiration.  But  Fortescue  held  out  his  disengaged 
hand  with  such  a  mournful  expression  of  countenance  that 
E  felt  this  was  not  a  moment  for  evincing  interest  in  any 
other  but  himself ;  however,  in  a  few  moments  he  advert¬ 
ed  to  the  subject,  which  certainly  was  uppermost  in  my 
thoughts,  and  said,  ‘  You  are  surprised  to  see  me  with 
this  little  companion,  Munroe  ;  but  I  can  assure  you  he 
is  my  only  comfort  now,  and  by  and  bye  I  will  tell  you 
all  his  history.’  This  he  did  almost  directly,  but  as  I 
shall  read  it  to  you  presently  in  his  own  words,  I  will 
pass  it  by  and  proceed  to  tell  you  only  that  this  dear 
child  was  my  friend  Harry  Carleton.  He  lived  with  Mr. 
Fortescue  as  his  adopted  son  about  five  years,  and  then 
when  I  returned  to  take  possession  of  my  estates  in  Eng¬ 
land  at  my  father’s  death,  he  was  entrusted  to  my  care, 
and  I  promised  faithfully  to  superintend  his  education 
till  his  kind  friend  Mr.  Fortescue  should  claim  him  at 
my  hands.  The  parting  was  ’  a  sad  one,  and  my  poor 
friend,  who  accompanied  us  to  the  vessel  which  was  to 
convey  us  to  England,  left  his  adopted  son  with  an  al¬ 
most  broken  heart.  Poor  Fortescue  !  he  did  not  long 
survive  our  departure,  but  before  his  death,  having  been 
apprised  by  his  physicians  that  he  could  only  live  a  very 
few  days  longer,  he  made  a  will  in  favour  of  Harry  Carle- 
ton,  leaving  him  the  whole  of  his  immense  property,  but 
requested  that  he  might  not  be  educated  in  idleness,  and, 
left  to  his  own  decision  when  he  should  attain  the  age  of 
fifteen  the  choice  of  his  profession,  only  expressing  a 
hope  that  he  would  embrace  that  of  a  clergyman  :  he  al¬ 
so  requested  that  ho  night  not  be  told  the  contents  of 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


257 


^r)^vs,  wKbh  he  committed  to  my  care  un^il  his 

pc/h  'H  li^c  chosen  and  his  marriage  decided  upon. 
I  ha\  e  religiou)yly  Jxcpt  my  promise,  and  until  this  day 
"  I  have  never  opened  the  papers,  though  I  conclude  a  rep¬ 
etition  of  the  story  vh’ch  I  have  heard  from  my  dear 
friends  own  lips  ”  « 

When  Sir  Archibald  reached  this  part  of  his  narra¬ 
tive  Carleton  approached  the  table,  and  holding  out  his 
hand  said,  “  Does  this  recital  give  you  pain,  my  dear  kind 

friend  ? — if  so,  shall  I - ’’ 

Oh  no,  dear  Harry,  not  at  all,  I  shall  be  quite  able 
to  fulfil  my  task  and  he  opened  with  trembling  hand 
the  packet  which  contained  the  interesting  letter  to  which 
he  had  referred,  and  with  a  faltering  voice  read  as  fol¬ 
lows  : — 

“  MY  DEAR  KIND  FRIEND, 

“  The  time  has  arrived  when  I  feel  it  a  duty  to 
put  you  in  possession  of  ,a  written  statement  respecting 
the  claims  which  my  beloved  Oarleton  has  on  my 
affection,  and  I  will  endeavour,  to  retrace  the  circum¬ 
stances  which  gave  him  to  my  care.  You,  who  wit¬ 
nessed  the  affection  which  existed  between  me  and  my 
beloved  Constance,  my  dear,  dear  wife,  will  require  no 
words  to  describe  my  grief,  my  heart’s  sorrow,  when  it 
pleased  the  Almighty  to  recall  her  to  himself,  and  when 
in  'three  short  weeks  after  her  death  my  precious  boy, 
my  little  Ernest,  followed  her  to  the  grave.  You  will 
I  am  sure  fully  understand  what  was  the  state  of  my 
bereaved  heart.  I  lost  no  time  in  taking  my  passage 
back  to  India,  determined  there  to  pass  iho  Tomalnder 
of  my  da'^s,  never  again  to  seek  to  replace  A-. 

I 


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which  J  had  lost.  It  is  now  nearly  seven  years  since 
I  again  embarked  for  this  country,  our  ship  was  a 
fine  one,  and  for  some  time  but  little  occurred  to  vary 
the  sad  monotony  of  my  existence  ;  I  felt  like  one  alone 
in  the  world,  and  though  I  sought,  yes,  most  earnestly 
sought  to  bear  my  sorrows  with  Christian  resignation, 
yet  I  was  lonely  and  wretched,  and  each  day  but  added 
to  my  weight  of  sorrow.  At  tlie  end  of  the  seventh 
week  from  the  day  on  which  we  left  England,  a  sudden 
storm  arose,  which  drove  us  out  of  our  course,  and 
carried  us  many  degrees  westward  of  our  right  bearing, 
and  then  suddenly  ceasing,  a  great  calm  arose,  and  for 
days  we  laid  almost  as  still  as  if  we  were  at  anchor ;  a 
burning  sun  rendered  the-  oppressive  heat  almost  in¬ 
supportable,  and  we  were  right  glad  when  in  the  early 
morning  of  the  third  day  a  light  breeze  sprung  up  and 
carried  us  once  more  bounding  along  over  the  waves. 
We  had  not  proceeded  far  on  this  day  when  we  espied 
at  a  distance  what  was  at  first  taken  by  the  crew  to  be 
a  large  fish  or  animal  of  some  kind,  but  on  nearing  it 
we  perceived  that  it  was  the  wreck  of  a  small  vessel 
water  logged,  and  drifting  along  without  sail  or  rudder, 
and  apparently  quite  deserted  by  all  her  crew.  Our  cap¬ 
tain  gave  orders  to  lower  a  boat,  and  sent  four  or  five  of 
the  bcvSt  sailors  to  examine  the  state  of  the  wreck,  and 
I,  glad  of  some  occupation  which  might  afford  even  a 
temporary  excitement,  volunteered  to  join  the  party. 
The  weather  was  delightful,  and  the  boats  crew  de¬ 
parted  in  high  spirits,  for  on  a  long  voyage  any  new 
adventure  is  particularly  interesting:  after  rowing  for 
about  half  an  hour  we  came  alongside  the  unfortunate 
vissel,  which  from  its  appearance  we  thought  must 


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250 


have  been  some  days  a  wreck,  and  then  with  some 
difficulty  we  contrived  to  board  her.  Nothing  of  any 
interest  presented  itself,  and  we  found  no  papers  or 
any  thing  which  could  denote  what  vessel  she  was,  and 
the  men  proposed  returning  without  venturing  to  ex* 
plore  the  cabins  below,  when  we  thought  we  heard  a 
faint  cry,  which  one  of  the  sailors  pronounced  to  be 
that  of  a  dog,  and  we  all  with  one  accord  said,  “Well,  let 
us  give  the  poor  creature  help  if'we  can;”  proceeding 
vdth  extreme  caution  we  contrived  to  get  down  to  the 
cabins  ;  again  a  wailing  cry  met  my  ear,  and  I  thought 
Burqly  that  is  like  the* wail  of  a  sick  child. — Alas  !  my 
ear  was  too  well  acquainted  with  such  sounds,  and  I  in¬ 
stantly  directed  my  steps  to  the  spot  from  whence  I  had 
heard  the  cry.  The  door  of  the  cabin  was  fixed  from 
the  inequalities  occasioned  by  the  state  of  the  vessel, 
but  I  contrived  to  wrench  it  open,  and  there,  stretched 
on  a  small  cot  lay  the  dead  body  of  a  woman,  and  by 
her  side,  with  his  little  curly  head  nestled  upon  her 
cold  bosom,  rested  a  little  child  of  perhaps  two  or  even 
three  years  old,  whose  sad  weeping  countenance  and 
famished  form  elicited  a  cry  of  horror  from  us  all.  I 
seized  upon  my  precious  prize,  I  clasped  him  in  my 
arms,  and  as  I  felt  his  little  frame  resting  in  childlike 
confidence  upon  my  breast,  I  felt  a  thrill  of  thankful 
joy  and  happiness  such  as  I  thought  could  never  again 
have  been  excited  in  my  sorrow-stricken  heart.  When 
we  reached  our  ship  I  carried  him  in  my  arms  to  my 
own  cabin,  and  laid  him  on  my  couch,  and  still  the  poor 
child  spoke  not,  but  clung  to  me  with  affectionate  ten¬ 
derness.  Oh,  it  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear^ 
he  so  pair  fully  reminded  me  of  my  lost  child,  my  own 


260 


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f- 


little  Ernest.  Nourishment  and  constant  care  in  a  few 
days  restored  life  and  animation  to  the  poor  helpless 
child,  and  then  he  tried  to  talk  to  me,  though  I  could 
not  understand  all  he  said,  as  he  was  not  able  to  speak 
plain  for  the  few  words  he  uttered  were  of  a  mixed 
sort  of  language  ;  however  I  thought  he  called  himself 
•  Harry  Carleton,’  and  by  that  name  he  was  known  all 
the  rest  of  our  voyage  ;  it  was  quite  understood  by 
every  one  that  I  had  adopted  the  dear  child  whom  I 
vowed  I  would  never  forsake.  When  we  reached 
Calcutta  I  was  obliged  immediately  to  go  up  the  coun¬ 
try  a  long  distance,  and  of  course  my  new  treasure 
accompanied  me  ;  sweet,  dear  boy,  he  was  the  solace 
of  my  life.  And  now,  my  child,  I  am  told  that  we 
shall  meet  no  more  in  this  life.  May  the  Lord  God 
be  thy  Protector  when  I  am  gone.” 

Sir  Archibald  here  ceased  reading  ;  Carleton  had  long 
since  retreated  to  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  where  his 
emotion  would  pass  unobserved,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
party  had  been  sympathizing  with  tears  of  unfeigned 
feeling. 

Sir  Archibald  in  a  few  moments  said,  “  At  the  same 

time  that  I  received  the  letter  from  which  I  have  read 

« 

this  narrative  my  good  friend  sent  me  some  little  arti¬ 
cles  of  dress  which  had  been  preserved,  and  a  miniature 
with  a  small  gold  chain  w^hich  is  I  conclude  that  of  my 
dear  Carleton’s  mother,  and  if  you  like  to  see  them  1 
will  produce  them  now.” 

Every  one  approached  the  table  when  Sir  Archibald 
opened  the  parcel  which  he  had  placed  there  and  took 
from  it  a  beautiful  little  velvet  frock  richly  embroidered, 


HOMli  is  HOMjfe. 


261 


and  some  small  cambric  shirts,  and  then  he  placed  in 
Carleton’s  hands  the  miniature  of  which  he  had  spoken ; 
it  represented  a  lady  whose  olive  complexion  and  bril¬ 
liant  dark  eyes  somewhat  resembled  Carleton’s,  and  with 
a  beating  heart  he  felt  that  he  was  looking  on  the  por¬ 
trait  tf  his  mother. 

After  having  allowed  a  sufficient  time  for  the  party  in 
some  measure  to  recover:  from  the  effects  which  this 
story  had  left  on  the  minds  of  all  who  were  so  deeply 
interested  in  its  hero.  Miss  Hartop  broke  the  silence  by 
saying,  “  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  indeed,  to  me  it  looks 
like  a  direct  interposition  of  Providence  ;  I  am  per¬ 
suaded  that  I  have  heard  a  tale  which  bears  so  intimate 
a  connexion  with  the  one  to  which  we  have  just  been 
listening,  that  I  cannot  think  I  should  be  justified  in 
withholding  it”  And  on  being  eagerly  entreated  by 
Carleton  to  tell  him  all  she  knew,  she  as  succinctly  as 
possible  related  the  story  which  some  months  before  she 
had  heard  from  the  old  almshouse  woman  at  Grays- 
brook ;  and  great  was  the  interest  which  it  excited  in 
the  minds  of  all,  as  though  there  existed  no  proof  that 
Carleton  was  indeed  the  hero  of  old  Nanny’s  talc,  it 
certainly  seemed  more  than  possible  that  such  might 
prove  the  case,  and  after  much  consideration  and  dis¬ 
cussion,  Miss  Hartop  promised  to  write  to  the  clergyman 
at  Graysbrook  to  enj[uire  whether  the  old  woman  still 
lived,  and  should  his  answer  be  a  favorable  one  she 
would  immediately  go  and  see  her  and  learn  from  her 
own  lips  the  names  of  her  former  master  and  his  family. 

The  short  remainder  of  this  eventful  evening  was 
passed  in  much  interesting  conversation,  and  before  the 
party  separated,  Kate  had  blushingly  given  her  consent 


262 


tto.iE  is  iloMi:. 


to  Carleton’s  naming  a  day  for  their  approaching  iitip* 
tials,  and  it  was  decided  that  they  should  be  solem.ttized 
on  the  fifth  of  August. 

The  unusual  absence  of  her  Master  and  Mistress  left 
Honor  for  the  first  time  for  many  months  with  some  hours 
at  her  own  disposal;  the  children  were  absent,  and  in 
fact  Honor,  like  Othello,  found  ‘‘  her  occupation  gone.  ” 
At  first  she  thought  this  would  be  a  delightful  holidayj 
but  after  putting  every  room  in  neat  order,  and  even 
preparing  the  studio  for  the  next  morning,  she  found  it 
was  only  four  o’clock,  and  the  silence  of  the  house  be¬ 
came  quite  oppressive ;  so  she  hastily  tied  on  her  pretty 
little  straw  bonnet  and  ran  down  to  Miss  Moffat’s  apart¬ 
ments,  and  opening  the  door,  said,  Och  thin,  Miss  Mof¬ 
fat,  I’m  bothered  intirely  with  the  pace  and  quietness  up 
there  now  the  Masther  and  all  is  gone,  and  will  ye  be  so 
kind  as  to  let  Maggie  just  give  the  word  to  the  milkman 
when  he  comes,  for  troth  I’m  just  famished  for  the  wants 
of  a  breath  o’  the  air  of  heaven,  and  I’ll  may  be  like  a 
rin  for  half  an  hour.” 

To  this  Miss  Moffat  most  kindly  assented,  and  said, 
‘‘Ye  are  a  just  a  gude  lassie.  Honor,  and  ye  deserve 
inuckle  consideration,  and  weel  may  ye  sped,  for  we’ll 
just  see  all  canny  while  ye  are  away.” 

Merrily  then  did  the  blithe  and  honest  hearted  girl 
trip  down  the  steps,  and  then  pause  a  moment  to  look 
up  and  down  the  street,  as  if  to  consider  on  the  course 
she  would  pursue  ;  but  presently  her  decision  seems  made, 
and  she  takes  her  way  towards  Mrs.  Crump’s  shop,  and  *’ 
there  finds  the  old  woman  in  her  usual  place  ;  but  the  shop 
is  now  decorated  with  bunches  of  beautiful  summer  flow- 


ilOMfi  is  HOMfi. 


263 


efs,  and  smells  luxuriously  of  fine  fruit  an. I  summer  sal¬ 
ads  and  vegetables ;  cool  and  pleasant  is  Mrs.  Crump’s 
shop  on  this  hot  July  afternoon,  for  it  is  on  the  shady 
side  of  the  street,  and  it  has  been  frequently  sprinkled 
with  cold  water,  and  as  Honor  enters  she  says,  “Well, 
Mrs.  Crump,  but  ye  are  a  jewel  of  a  woman,  that’s  for 
sartain,  for  your  cool  shop  is  just  the  Very  temple  of  de¬ 
light  this  dreadful  hot  day,  an’  I’ll  sit  with  ye  a  bit  if 
ye’re  not  too  busy,  for  our  folks  is  all  gone  to  a  grand  dim 
iier  party  and  its  dull  enough,  I  am  all  alone  by  meself.” 

Gone  to  a  dinner  are  they.  Honor  ?  ”  enquired  Mrs. 
Crump,  with  wonder  painted  on  her  broad,  good-humoured 
face.  Gone  out  to  a  party  are  they  ?”  and  then,  inter¬ 
rupted  by  the  arrival  of  a  customer,  she  pinned  up  her 
band,  and  obligingly  weighed  some  cherries,  popping  the 
stray  ones  which  fell  from  the  scales  into  her  capacious 
mouth ;  and  then  when  the  girl  was  gone  she  ofiered  a 
little  bunch  to  Honor,  who  thanked  her  kindly  and  said, 
“  Well,  they  do  cry  come  eat  me,  that’s  the  truth,  Mrs. 
Crump,  and  I’m  intirely  obleeged  to  ye.” 

So  they  continued  to  eat  their  cherries  for  a  few 
moments,  and  to  chat  about  the  doings  of  the  Sinclair 
party.  “  And  so  they’re  all  gone  to  a  party  ;  well,  Hon 
or,  timei  seems  changed,  don’t  they  ?  come,  you  may  as 
well  tell  me,  my  lass,  for  I  hear  you  are  a  going  to  have  a 
weddin’  in  your  family.” 

Ah,  now  surely  ye  wouldn’t  be  asking  me  the  sa- 
crets  of  the  swate  Miss  Kate  ;  och,  thin  I’ll  not  tell  ye  a 
word  at  all  at  all,  bad  manners  tome  to  think  of  spaking 
of  the  likes  of  her.” 

“  Oh,  then  it  is  Miss  Kate,  is  it,  Honor  ?  Well  I  dare 
Bay  it’s  all  true  then  what  I  heard,  and  I  won’t  ask  you 


264 


H  O  xAI  E  13  HOME. 


any  thing  more  on  the  subject ;  but  I  wish  ’em  luck,  «nd 
whenever  she’s  married,  Honor,  mind  you  throw  an  old 
shoe  after  ’em :  tliaVs  a  sacret  you  Irish  bodies  didn’t 
know.  I’ll  wager  a  penny.  But  look  here,  who’s  this  a 
coming  ?  well,  who’d  a  thought  it,  my  gal  ? — why,  if 
’tisn’t  Mr.  Aurory  himself!”  and  Kory  it  was  indeed 
who  now  entered  the  little  fruit  shop,  panting  with  heat 
and  redder  than  his  neckerchief;  but  as  he  approached 
Honor  she  blushed  and  tossed  her  pretty  head  and  said. 
Oh  thin,  Mr.  Rory,  ye’ve  found  yer  own  sweet  self  at 
last ;  maybe  ye  don’t  know  that  it’s  a  week  since  you 
found  your  way  to  this  part  of  the  world.” 

“  Ah  thin.  Honor,”  answered  her  lover,  don’t  be 
after  twitting  me  with  what  has  been  the  sorrow  of 
my  days  entirely :  sure  hasn’t  the  mother  of  me  been 
lying  on  1  er  sick  bed,  and  would  I  lave  the  poor  blessed 
ould  creature  to  be  afther  saking  my  own  pleasure,  let 
alone  yours,  my  sweet  Honor.  There  now,  ask  Mrs. 
Crump  if  them  frowns  is  becoming  to  ye.” 

“  Och  Rory,  I’m  sorry  I  didn’t  know  that  your  poor 
mother  was  bad :  and  is  she  better  now  ?  and  will  she  be 
getting  about  again  ?” 

Why,  that’s  kind  again,  and  I  knowed  ye  wouldn’t 
be  angered  when  ye  knowed  the  truth ;  but  come  now, 
don’t  be  telling  a  fib,  for  I  seen  ye  Monday,  an’  this  is 
only  Thursday,  me  lannen.  Oome,  come,  make  up  all 
quarrels,  and  come  and  take  a  bit  of  a  walk,  for  it’ll  be 
a  nice  evening  after  the  heat  do  lave  scalding  us  all  to 
the  death  of  one.” 

Mrs.  Crumb,  kind  soul,  had  seen  clouds  gathering  on 
Honor’s  pretty  face  from  the  momet  when  Rory  first  pre* 
sented  himself,  and  finding  that  interminable  band  re- 


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265 


quired  entire  readjustment,  she  had  retired  to  an  inner 
room,  leaving  the  lovers  to  settle  their  quarrels  ;  and  now, 
as  she  sees  a  prospect  of  a  termination  to  this  unusual 
fracas,  she  came  smilingly  forth  all  tight  and  tidy,  and 
insisting  upon  their  accepting  some  nice  ripe  fruit  to 
eat  as  they  pursue  their  evening  ramble,  and  with  many 
thanks  and  friendly  good  wishes  to  good  natured  Mrs. 
Crumb,  Honor  and  Kory  emerge  into  the  street  and 

rapidly  pursue  their  way  towards - Park.  And  as 

they  walk,  kind  and  loving  chat  takes  place  between  them, 
and  Kory  asks  Honor  Jiow  much  longer  she  “  manes  to 
keep  him  a  poor  lonely  desarted  bachelor 

To  which  Honor  replies,  “  Arrah  be  aisy  wid  yer 
tazing  nonsense,  Kory,  ho^fr  can  I  lave  them  now,  they 
wouldn’t  like  a  stranger  to  see  all  their  troubles;  but  wait 
a  bit,  Kory  dear.  I’ll  not  desave  ye ;  I,”  and  here  she 
lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  “  I  love  ye  truly,  dearly, 
Kory,  and  I’ll  not  deny  that  its  a  bit  of  a  trial  to  me  to 
put  ye  off  so  long,  but  its  dWy^  Kory,  its  duty,  and  by 
the  Lord’s  blessing  I'll  strive  to  do  what’s  right  and 
just.” 

That’s  just  like  yourself,  mavoarneen,  and  it  shall 
niver  be  said  that  Rory  tempted  ye  away  from  your  duty: 
but  now,  machree,  look  here,”  and  forth  from  his  pocket 
Kory  drew  the  well  known  little  purse,  and  took  from 
it  a  five  pound  note,  and  held  it  up  to  her  astonished 
gaze. 

Why,  Rory,  sure  but  you’ve  dalings  with  the  ^  good 
people  but  tell  me,  asthore,  where  could  ye  get  such  a 
sight  of  money  all  at  onct  ?” 

Well  then.  Honor,  my  darling,  it  was  given  to  mo 
for  your  dear  sake  the  last  time  iver  I  seen  ye,  and  IVe 
12 


266 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


been  longing  to  tell  ye  all  about  it.  Last  Monday  1 
comes  to  your  door,  and  I  sees  little  blue-eyed  Maggie 
with  her  sweet  little  kind  face,  so  I  says,  ‘  Maggie,’  says 
I,  ‘  where’s  Honor  V  ‘  Och,’  says  she,  ‘  she’s  up  stairs, 
and  there’s  dear  Miss  Kate  up  there,  and  siccan  a  fin<^ 
young  gentleman,’  says  she,  •  oh  he  is  such  a  beautiful 
young  man,  and  Miss  Moffat  says  she’s  sure  and  sartin 
he’s  a  going  to  marry  Miss  Kate;  well,  I  pricked  up  my 
ears  like  at  this,  and  I  thought  thinks  I,  ‘  Well,  I  must 
try  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them  parties,’  so  I  waited,  and  I 
hoped  I’d  soon  see  your  own  dear  face,  but  ye  was  so 
busy ;  well  thin  I  went  to  Mrs.  Crumb’s,  and  there  I 
staid  a  bit;  and  then  I  wandered  back  again  to  your  end 
of  the  street,  and  then  I  stol#  up  the  steps  again,  but  I 
hadn’t  courage  to  go  in  ;  so  in  a  moment  out  comes  Mis« 
Kate,  and  took  me  all  by  surprise  like,  and  she  says,  in 
her  own  kind  way,  ‘  Ah,  Rory,  is  that  you?’  she  says,  so 
I  made  a  leg  and  pulled  off  my  hat  and  says,  ‘  Shure, 
Miss  Kate,’  says  I,  ^  and  by  your  lave,’  says  I,  ‘  its  meself 
entirely,  and  its  glad  I  am  to  see  ye  looking  so  bright 
and  so  beautiful  in  health,’  says  I,  ‘  and  may  ye  niver 
look  worse,’  says  I.  ‘  Thank  ye,  Rory,’  says  she,  and 
turning  round  to  a  grand  looking  fine  young  gentleman 
as  was  following  her,  she  says,  ‘  Oh,  Mr.  Cawlting,’  she 
says,  ‘  this  is  Rory,’  and  I  heard  her  whisper  something 
about  ^  good  Honor.’  ‘  Oh,’  he  says,  mighty  sweet,  ‘  thi^s 
is  good  Honor’s  lover  is  it  ?  Ah  my  lad,’  he  says,  ‘  you’ll 
have  a  jewel  of  a  wife,  and  I  hope  you’ll  have  many  years 
of  happiness  with  her,’  he  says,  and  then  he  puts  Miss 
Kate  on  before  him,  and  slips  back  as  if  he  was  looking 
for  his  walking  stick,  and  he  says,  ‘  Now  my  good  fellow, 
you’ll  like  to  give  your  pretty  Honor  a  nice  new  gown  or 


M(5ME  Is  ilCiME. 


eomething  when  the  wedding  day  comes,’  and  by  the 
powers  he  puts  this  beautiful  note  for  money  into  my 
hand,  and  runs  after  Miss  Kate  like  a  will-o’-the-tvisp? 
So  now,  mavourneen,  onct  more  IVe  got  the  manes  of 
buying  that  little  band  of  gold  which  ’ll  make  me  the 
happiest  boy  in  all  the  world  beknown  and  unbeknown, 
and  soon  I  hope  ye’ll  say,  Rory,  I’ll  give  ye  lave  to 
buy  it.” 

Honor  now  told  her  lover  that  she  too  had  a  trifle 
to  add  to  this  immense  wealth,  for  that  her  dear  Miss 
Kate  had  given  her  three  bright  gold  sovereigns,  and 
before  their  walk  was  ended  they  had  in  imagination 
furnished  a  cottage,  provided  stores  of  clothing  and 
comforts  for  the  poor  old  mother,  and  performed  a  thou- 
sand  acts  befitting  their  kind  and  generous  natures,  ap¬ 
parently  unwilling  to  believe  that  their  riches  would 
ever  be  exhausted. 

On  the  evening  which  succeeded  Kate’s  birth-day 
Charles  went  to  visit  his  friend  Mr.  Crosby,  who  re¬ 
ceived  him  with  much  warmth  and  kindness,  and  told 
him  that  he  felt  almost  ashamed  of  having  been  be¬ 
trayed  into  so  much  emotion  when  last  they  met,  but 
he  added,  “  I  hope  now,  my  dear  boy,  I  shall  feel  quite 
equal  to  the  effort  which  I  promised  to  make,  and 
if  you  are  really  interested  in  such  a  surly  old  fellow 
as  you  know  me  to  be,  why  I  will  tell  you  some  of 
the  causes  which  have  driven  me  to  take  refuge  in  a 
manner  which  is  I  confess  somewhat  foreign  to  my  na¬ 
ture,  though  I  do  not  promise  to  tell  you  all  the  partic¬ 
ulars  of  my  past  life  but  come,  Charles,  it  is  a  close 
warm  evening,  you  shall  place  my  chair  near  the  win¬ 
dow,  and  we  will  take  a  glass  of  wine  while  I  tell  you 
my  story.” 


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With  ready  alacrity  Charles  made  the  proposed  ar- 
rangementj  and  then  seating  himself  near  his  friend  he 
listened  to  him  with  affectionate  attention  while  ho 
spoke  as  follows  :  I  am  the  younger  son  of  a  baro¬ 

net,  Charles,  but  as  I  have  a  brother  still  living,  a 
stronger  and  abler  man  than  myself,  I  am  not  likely 
to  succeed  to  a  title  which  for  many  long  years  has 
belonged  to  my  family.  When  I  was  a  lad  of  your  age, 
- — ay,  and  at  that  time  much  of  your  character  and  tem¬ 
perament, — I  was  a  great  favourite  with  an  uncle,  a 
brother  of  my  dear  mother’s  ;  this  excellent  man  had 
very  large  estates  in  the  West  Indies,  and  having  as  it 
were  adopted  me,  he  took  me  with  him  to  Barbadoes, 
where  the  principal  part  of  his  property  was  situated, 
and  I  lived  with  him  till  I  was  five-and-twenty,  making, 
of  course,  some  occasional  trips  to  England  at  intervals. 
When  this  kind  uncle  died,  he  left  me  the  whole  of  his 
property,  and  I  determined  to  remain  some  years  in  the 
island ;  ten  years  passed  and  found  me  still  unmarried, 
but  soon  afterwards  I  met  with  a  young  Portuguese  lady 
of  good  family,  and  of  exquisite  beauty  and  sweetness 
of  manner.  I  will  not  tire  you,  Charles,  by  recounting 
the  progress  of  my  attachment  to  this  lady,  suffice  it 
that  at  the  end  of  about  a  year  after  we  first  met  she 
became  my  wife,  and  very  shortly  afterwards  we  came  to 
England,  and  I  took  possession  of  this  house,  which  was 
part  of  the  pr^erty  I  inherited  from  my  uncle ;  here 
we  lived  in  perfect  happiness  for  two  years — at  the  end 
of  which  time  my  dear  wife  became  so  delicate  in  health 
thatT  was  advised  to  take  her  to  a  warmer  climate.  A 
long  voyage  was  recommended,  and  I  decided  on  visiting 
some  of  my  far-off  estates.  We  reached  our  destina- 


HOME  13  HOME. 


2G9 


tion,  and  she  rallied  considerably,  indeed,  for  a  year  she 
was  apparently  in  good  health,  and  then,  Charles,  a  dear 
child — a  precious  boy — was  born  to  us.  0  he  was  too 
dear,  too  much  the  idol  of  my  heart !” — Here  Mr.  Crosby 
rose  and  paced  the  room  in  much  agitation.  0  Charles, 
I  have  no  courage  to  proceed, — I  lost  her — my  wife 
died,  and  my  boy,  my  precious  boy,  was  miserably 
drowned  !....!  cannot  look  back  ; — I  believe 
for  two  or  three  years  I  lost  my  senses  ; — I  went  abroad, 
I  became  a  miser ;  in  imagination  I  was  hoarding  for 
my  boy — my  little  one  !  time,  time,  Charles,  restored  me 
in  some  measure,  and  my  mind  resumed  its  balance,  but 
the  bags  of  hoarded  wealth  still  tempted  me,  and  had  it 
not  been  that  the  portals  of  my  stony  heart  ever  gave 
way  at  the  sight  of  children,  and  their  little  griefs  and 
sorrows  let  loose  the  floodgates  of  my  frozen  tears,  I 
would  have  found  no  way  to  escape  the  sin  which  then 
beset  me.  You  will  now  understand  better  how  I  came 
so  deeply  and  tenderly  interested  in  your  little  Henry, 
— he  was  more  like  my  own  lost  darling  than  any  I  had 
ever  seen,  and  for  the  few  short  months  of  his  little  life, 
I  could  never  cease  to  follow  him  and  watch  for  him ; 
and  in  you,  my  dear  boy,  although  I  can  trace  no  per¬ 
sonal  likeness,  yet  I  delight  in  feeling  that  I  am  beloved 
by  a  young  apd  ardent  mind,  and  I  cheat  myself  into  the 
hope  that  you  will  be  a  son  to  me  in  future  years.’* 

Many,  many  times  had  Charles  lon^d  to  interrupt 
the  narrative  ; — could  it  be  ?  Could  tliere  exist  a  proba¬ 
bility,  that  the  story  to  which  he  had  listened  only  a  few 
short  hours  before  was  indeed  connected  with  the  one  he 
had  now  heard?  Yet,  in  one  or  two  points  there  cer¬ 
tainly  appeared  some  similarity  in  the  train  of  events ; 


270 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


however,  as  these  thoughts  glanced  through  his  mind, 
they  were  accompanied  by  the  fear  of  exciting  false  hopes 
in  the  mind  of  his  old  friend ;  and  after  all,  he  had  not 
mentioned  the  way  in  which  he  had  lost  his  wife  and 
little  son,  and  he  dared  ask  no  further  questions  at  that 
moment ;  he  therefore  discreetly  abstained  from  saying 
a  word  on  the  subject  which  engrossed  his  every  thought ; 
but  as  soon  as  Mr.  Crosby  ceased  speaking,  he  drew  his 
chair  close  by  him,  and  putting  his  head  on  his  shoulder, 
as  if  he  had  been  indeed  his  son,  he  took  him  by  tho 
hand  and  thanked  him,  with  much  emotion,  for  his  kind 
and  affectionate  confidence  in  him ; — unselfish,  and  with¬ 
out  a  single  interested  motive  in  his  heart,  Charles  feared 
no  misinterpretation  of  his  feelings  when  he  said,  ‘‘  And 
let  me  strive  to  fill  the  void  in  your  heart  which  these 
sad  trials  have  occasioned ;  I  will  promise,  my  dear  Sir, 
to  fulfil,  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  every  wish  you 
may  express,  and  to  obey  you  as  I  would  my  fa¬ 
ther.” 

“  I  believe  you,  my  dear  boy,  and  I  do  sincerely  hope 
that  for  the  rest  of  my  short  days  in  this  world  you  will 
be  to  me  what  at  your  age  I  was  to  my  dear  kind  old 
uncle  ; — but  come,  come,  Charles,  I  have  been  selfishly 
making  your  young  heart  sad,  and  had  I  not  thought  it 
right  to  let  you  understand  my  character  aright  before 
you  become  my  adopted  son,  I  should  not  have  troubled 
you  with  iny  sad  tale ;  and  now  let  your  confidence  in 
me  be  unrestrained,  and  come  to  me  as  if  you  were  in¬ 
deed  my  son.” 

At  this  moment  Fairly  opened  the  door  and  said. 
Shall  I  bring  candles,  sir  ?”  and  they  suddenly  disco¬ 
vered  that  for  some  little  time  the  moon  had  afforded 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


271 


them  their  only  light.  The  interruption  occasioned  by 
her  entrance  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation,  and  Charles 
soon  after  took  his  leave. 

As  he  plodded  homewards  his  mind  naturally  revert¬ 
ed  to  the  story  he  had  just  heard,  and  much  as  he  loved 
his  kind  old  friend,  he  could  not  but  observe  and  lament 
the  total  absence  of  all  reference  to  any  Christian  feeling 
or  religious  impression,  but  lie  thought,  “  Some  men  are, 
I  know,  silent  on  such  subjects,  even  though  they  really 
influence  their  lives  and  conduct.  Yet  surely  if  he  had 
in  a  Christian  spirit  submitted  with  resignation  to  the 
will  of  God,  would  he  not  have  found  peace,  and  long 
ere  this  have  seen  and  acknowledged  the  wisdom  and 
mercy  of  His  dispensations.  How  differently  have  my 
dear  parents  and  sweet  Kate  borne  their  trials  and  afflic¬ 
tions  !  still  it  is  not  for  me,  so  young  as  I  am,  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  a  man  of  his  age.  And  then,  too,  he  has 
evinced  so  m^ny  good  qualities  and  traits  of  disposition 
that  I  cannot  but  hope  his  heart  is  under  the  guidance 
of  religious  principles,  and  I  trust  he  will  prove  all  that 
I  could  wish.”  Thus  Charles  soliloquised,  but  soon 
came  the  longing  desire  to  discover  whether  old  Nanny’s 
story  was  in  any  way  connected  with  that  he  had  just 
heard  from  Mr.  Crosby. 


II 


CHAPTBE  XXII. 


The  next  day’s  post  brought  Miss  Hartop  a  letter 
from  the  clergyman  at  Graysbrook,  stating  that  old  Nanny 
was  living  and  in  good  health,  and  on  communicating 
this  intelligence  to  Carleton  and  the  rest  of  the  party 
who  were  interested,  it  was  arranged  that  Miss  Hartop, 
with  Charles  as  her  escort,  should  immediately  go  to 
Graysbrook,  and  if  she  had  reason  to  believe,  from  old 
Nanny’s  statements,  that  Carleton  was  the  son  of  her 
former  master,  she  should  if  possible  bring  the  old 
woman  to  London  in  order  to  obtain  from  her  as  much 
information  as  passible  repecting  his  parents.  It  was 
thought  expedient,  too,  that  Miss  Hartop  should  take 
with  her  the  miniature  which  had  been  transmitted  by 
Mr.  Fortescue,  and  also  some  portion  of  the  wearing 
apparel.  And  0  how  Charles’s  ardent  heart  leapt  as 
he  thought  of  the  possibility  which  existed  that  his 
kind  old  friend’s  future  happiness  might  depend  on  the 
result  of  this  mission ;  yet  boy  as  he  was,  no  word  or 
look  betrayed  that  he  had  any  particular  interest  beyond 
what  others  felt  on  the  occasion. 

A  brilliant  morning  dawned  on  the  day  so  interesting 
to  Charles  and  his  fellow  traveller,  and  by  eight  o’clock 
they  were  well  on  their  way  to  Graysbrook,  and  although 
at  this  hour  it  was  deliciously  cool  and  pleasant,  they 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


^73 


very  gladly  exchanged  the  dusty  streets  and  rpads  for 
for  the  widely-extending  .commons  and  bright  hills  of 
Surrey,  and  merrily  they  chatted  as  they  journeyed 
towards  the  pretty  village  which  Miss  Hartop  always 
called  ^‘her  home.”  The  distance’ from  London  to 
Graysbrook  was  about  thirty  miles,  and  it  was  early  in 
the  afternoon  that  the  carriage  turned  down  a  narrow 
lane,  when  the  sight  of  the  little  spire  of  her  favorite 
church  was  welcomed  by  Miss  Hartop  with  its  usual 
share  of  interest.  Here  we  are  then,  Charles ;  see  there 
[s  the  dear  little  church  !  and  now  soon  we  shall  pass  by 
the  almshouse ;  but  anxious  as  I  am  to  see  my  poor  old 
woman,  we  must  not  take  her  by  surprise,  so  we  will 
drive  to  my  cottage  first;  and  now  the  village  green 
appears,  and  there  is  the  old  Maypole  with  its  withered 
garlands  still  hanging  on  it  to  remind  us  of  the  festivi¬ 
ties  of  May-day,  and  the  school-house.  Look,  Charles, 
there  are  some  of  the  dear  good  people.  Ah,  I  see  my 
arrival  will  not  long  be  a  secret.” 

Kindly  she  nodded  or  spoke  to  the  villagers  as  she 
passed  them,  and  was  greeted  with  many  a  heartfelt  “  God  . 
bless  you.”  Soon  the  carriage  stops  at  the  White  Cot¬ 
tage,  the  steps  are  let  down,  and  Charles  hands  out  his 
kind-hearted  companion,  and  by  the  time  they  enter  the 
little  white  gate  many  of  the  poor  people  have  assem¬ 
bled  to  catch  a  glimpse,  and  receive  a  word  of  kind  recog¬ 
nition  from  their  respected  benefactress.  Miss  Hartop, 
who,  in  the  fiurry  of  her  spirits,  has  left  the  precious 
packet  in  the  carriage,  and  Charles  has  to  run  after  it  in 
all  the  heat,  as  it  is  now  spinning  down  the  hill  to  the 
little  inn,  where  the  postboy  hopes  to  find  a  shelter  from 
the  heat  for  himself  and  his  tired  horses. 

12* 


274 


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After  a  few  moments  passed  in  consultation  as  to 
the  best  means  of  gaining  the  intelligence  which  they 
desired  from  old  Nanny,  Miss  Hartop  and  Charles  set 
out  on  their  walk  to  the  almshouse.  On  arriving  at  the 
gate,  they  paused  a  moment  to  admire  the  bright  luxu¬ 
riance  of  the  little  gardens  now  filled  with  lovely  sum¬ 
mer  flowers,  perfuming  the  air  with  their  delicious 
fragrance ;  and  Charles,  who  for  some  time  had  been 
much  confined  to  the  streets  of  London,  was  quite  in  rap¬ 
tures  at  the  sweet  country  scenes  around  him.  At  this 
moment,  “  Nanny,  the  Queen,’’  appeared  at  her  open 
door.  She  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  sunlight,  sha¬ 
ding  her  eyes  with  her  hand  from  the  too  sudden 
effect  of  the  light,  resting  as  usual  on  her  large  staff 
for  support,  and  peering  forth  to  see  who  were  the 
strangers  at  the  garden  gate.  On  seeing  Nanny,  Miss 
Hartop  walked  rapidly  towards  her,  and  taking  her  by 
the  hand,  was  received  by  the  faithful  creature  with  her 
usual  warmth  and  affection :  and  with  unfeigned  delight 
she  said,  “  Oh,  my  dear  lady,  is  it  you  indeed  ?  Well, 
this  is  a  pleasure,  surely ;  but  I  hope.  Miss,  nothing  has 
happened  wrong  like  to  bring  you  back  again  so  quick  ?” 

“  Oh  no,  Nanny,  nothing :  I  had  a  reason  for  wishing 
to  pass  a  few  hours  here,  but  I  hope  to  return  to  Mrs. 
Marston  to-morrow.  I  am  now  come  to  sit  a  little  while 
with  you^  in  your  nice,  cool  room  :  but  first  I  must  speak 
to  that  young  gentleman.  By  the  bye,  Nanny,  that  is 
Mi.  Charles  Sinclair,  of  whom  you  have  so  often  heard.” 
By  this  time,  Charles,  obeying  a  slight  signal  from  Miss 
Hartop,  joined  them,  and  speaking  kindly  to  the  old 
woman,  they  all  three  entered  the  house  together. 

After  a  few  moments  of  desultory  conversation,  dur 


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275 


mg  which  Miss  Hartop  was  endeavouring  'jO  lead  to  tho 
subject  of  her  visit,  she  said,  Do  you  remember  my 
long  visit  to  you  on  that  cold  winter  evening,  Nanny  r 
I  have  often  thought  with  much  interest  of  the  sad  tale 
you  told  me  on  that  occasion :  but  you  did  not  tell  me 
the  name  of  your  old  master  ; — sliould  you  mhid  telling 
me  ? — I  much  wish  to  hear  it.” 

“  Oh,  ma’am  !  Oh,  Miss  Hartop  !  don’t,  oh  please 
don’t  talk  of  that  sad  business.  I  can’t,  indeed  I  can’t 
tell  anything  more  about  it.”  Old  Nanny  paused ;  then, 
trembling  with  emotion,  she  rocked  herself  backwards 
and  forwards  in  her  high-backed  chair,  and  looked  dis¬ 
tressed  and  agitated. 

Well,  well,  Nanny,  I  did  not  mean  to  vex  you,  and 
I  am  sorry  I  have  given  you  pain  ;  but  I  have  a  reason, 
which  I  will  explain  at  another  time,  for  asking  you  this 
question :  believe  me  it  was  not  dictated  by  mere  curi¬ 
osity.” 

“  Oh  no.  Miss,”  said  Nanny,  “  I  know  you  too  well 
to  think  it  could  be  that ;  but  you  know.  Miss,  I  always 
avoid  to  talk  of  that  time,  and  his  name  I  have  never 
let  pass  my  lip  since  then  ;  still,  I  know  I  ought  not 
to  refuse  your  father’s  child  any  thing  she  may  desire. 
Again  there  was  a  silence,  and  then  with  an  effort 
which  seemed  almost  to  paralyze  the  pr  or  creature,  she 
said,  “  Well,  Miss,  God’s  will  be  done :  his  name  was 
CarlingtonP 

This  was  a  death-blow  to  poor  Charles’  hopes,  yet 
to  Miss  Hartop  it  brought  an  almost  certainty  that 
Henry  Carleton  was  indeed  the  son  of  Nanny’s  master, 
although  from  his  imperfect  speaking  at  the  time  when 
he  was  found  in  the  wreck,  the  name  had  been  slightly 


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altered.  Proceeding  now  very  cautiously,  she  soon 
quite  satisfied  herself  that  she  was  right  in  this  con¬ 
jecture,  and  presently  she  ventured  to  show  the  minia¬ 
ture  to  Nanny,  which  to  her  satisfaction  and  delight 
was  instantly  recognized  as  that  of  the  dearly-loved 
mother  of  the  lost  child.  Although  pained  and  grieved 
at  witnessing  the  agitation  with  which  the  disclosure 
was  received,  Miss  Ilartop  now  gradually  informed 
Nanny  that  Carleton  lived  and  that  she  should  soon  see 
him  ! — Poor  Nanny  !  how  she  wept  and  clasped  those 
withered  hands,  and  blessed  God  for  permitting  such 
happy  tidings  to  be  brought. 

Miss  Hartop  left  her  a  few  moments,  that  she  might 
recover  her  composure,  and  then  it  was  settled  that  she 
should  return  with  them  to  London,  and  on  the  follow¬ 
ing  day^they  all  arrived  in  safety  at  Sir  Edmund’s, 
where  Nanny  was  most  kindly  received  ;  but  as  she  had 
already  endured  so  much  unusual  excitement  and  fa¬ 
tigue,  Lady  Beauchamp  directed  that  she  should  re¬ 
main  quietly  in  the  neat  little  room  which  had  been 
prepared  for  her,  and  requested  that  she  might  not  be 
disturbed  for  some  hours.  Meanwhile  Carleton  was 
apprised  of  what  h*ad  occurred,  and  learned  with  much 
interest  that  his  old  nurse  had  recognized  the  miniature 
of  his  mother,  though  he  much  regretted  that  no  clue 
had  been  obtained  by  which  he  might  discover  who  his 
parents  were,  and  whether  his  father  still  was  living. 

In  a  few  hours  old  Nanny  was  sufficiently  recovered 
to  admit  of  her  seeing  her  “  dear  young  master,’*  as  she 
already  designated  Carleton  :  and  as  it  was  evident  she 
was  impatiently  pining  for  the  interview  it  was  no 
longer  delayed  ;  when  he  entered  the  room  she  rose  to 


HOME  S  HOME. 


27t 


meet  him,  and  tried  to  receive  him  with  the  respect  dm 
to  a  stranger  and  a  gentleman ;  but  at  the  sight  o'* 
him  all  restraint  gave  way,  and  suddenly  grasping  the 
hand  which  he  had  extended  to  her,  she  sunk  into  a 
chair,  and  covering  her  face  she  wept  aloud.  For  a 
time  the  silence  was  unbroken  save  by  her  bursting 
sobs,  and  scarcely  could  Carleton  withhold  his  sympa¬ 
thising  tears.  He  did  not  withdraw  the  hand  which 
the  poor  creature  detained  with  all  the  fondness  which 
for  so  many  years  had  been  treasured  in  her  heart, 
patiently  awaiting  her  recovery  from  this  first  outpour¬ 
ing  of  long  restrained  feeling.  At  length  she  spoke, 
and  ‘‘blessed  the,  hour”  when  the  “sin  of  murder” 
was  taken  from  her  burthened  conscience.  “Yes,”  she 
said  in  answer  to  some  soothing  words  of  Carleton, 
“  yes,  I  always  in  my  heart  considered  that  my  selfish 
want  of  care  occasioned  the  death  of  my  precious  little 
charge,  and  I  have  ever  thought  of  myself  as  little 
better  than  a  murderer.  Oh,  sir  !  never  since  that  aw¬ 
ful  day  have  I  laid  down  in  peace  ;  but  let  me  look  at 
you,  let  me  besure  that  there  is  no  mistake.  Yes,”  she 
said,  after  a  close  examination  of  his  features,  “  yes,  I 
thank  God  his  likeness  to  my  dear,  dear  mistress  is  suffi¬ 
cient  proof ;  but  when  I  remember,  too,  that  I  put 
that  picture  of  his  mother  round  his  little  neck  the 
day  she  died,  and  taught  him  to  talk  to  it,  and  call  it 
by  her  name,  I  can 'have  no  doubt  that  this  is,  indeed, 
my  dear  “  Master  Herbert.” 

•  “  Herbert !  is  that  my  name?”  asked  Carleton. 

“  Yes,  sir,  you  were  named  Herbert  after  an  uncle  of 
my  master’s,  and  your  name  is  GarlingtonP 

Many  were  the  interesting  questions  which  followed, 


t78 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


but  old  Nanny  could  tell  him  nothing  of  his  father, c  i  whom 
6he  said  she  had  not  heard  for  many  years,  but  that  when 
last  she  had  heard  his  name  mentioned  she  was  told  he 
was  gone  abroad.  And  now  perceiving  that  this  agi¬ 
tating  interview  had  somewhat  fatigued  her,  and  fearing 
that  her  mind  would  not  bear  so  much  excitement,  Cai-le- 
ton  took  his  leave,  promising  to  visit  her  every  day  if 
she  wished  to  see  him. 

Old  Nanny  soon  became  a  great  favourite  with  Kate 
and  the  children,  and ^it- was  delightful  to  witness  her 
happiness  and  pleasure  as  she  sat  in  her  comfortable 
chair  surrounded  by  a  group  of  the  family  party,  all  de¬ 
sirous  to  show  her  kindness  and  respect.  As  to  Carle- 
ton,  or  as  we  must  now  call  him,  Carlington,  he  never 
tired  of  asking  her  questions  and  gathering  from  her  an¬ 
swers  descriptions  of  his  parents,  their  home  and  mode 
of  life  :  and  he  dwelt  with  delight  on  her  account  of  his 
mother,  who  was,  she  told  him,  “  A  lovely  lady,  ”  and 
yoUy  Mr.  Herbert,  are  the  very  moral  of  her.  ”  This 
caused  much  merriment  to  the  young  ones,  and  Nanny 
cheerfully  joined  in  the  laugh,  though  she  did  not  com¬ 
prehend  its  cause.  On  one  subject  only  was  Nanny  re¬ 
served,  she  still  evidently  dreaded  meeting  her  old  mas¬ 
ter,  and  seldom  mentioned  his  name  :  nor  could  any  ar¬ 
gument  remove  from  her  mind  the  painful  feelings  which 
she  still  indulged  on  the  subject. 

Charles  was  so  busily  engaged  a*t  this  time  at  his  of¬ 
fice,  that  he  was  unable  to  pursue  the  investigation  which 
so  much  interested  him.  At  length  one  morning,  finding 
himself  unexpectedly  at  leisure  for  a  few  hours,  he  deci¬ 
ded  upon  putting  in  execution  a  little  scheme  which,  for 
some  days,  he  had  been  silently  contemplating :  and  en* 


Home  is  homs. 


279 


tering  old  Nanny’s  room  at  Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp’s, 
he  said  in  a  rapid  manner,  “  Come,  Nanny,  I  want  you 
to  put  yourself  under  my  guidance  and  go  out  with  me 
for  I  have  something  to  show  you  that  will,  I  think,  in¬ 
terest  you  very .  much,  and  you  ought  to  see  a  little  of 
this  great  town,  so  come  along.” 

“Oh,  sir!”  said  Nanny,  “you  are  all  so  good  to 
me,  but  sure/y  you  wouldn’t  go  out  with  a  poor  old 
almshouse  woman,  would  you  ?” 

“And  why  not,  pray?  I  shall  be  quite  delighted,” 
said  Charles  :  “  and  depend  upon  it  I  will  take  as  much 
care  of  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  old  nurse.  Come, 
I  will  have  a  nice  carriage  at  the  door  in  half  an  hour, 
and,  mind,  I  won’t  take  anybody  but  you.” 

“  Well,  well-a-day,  and  so  I  an  to  go  out  riding,  am 
I,  Master  Charles  ?  what  would  the  folks  at  dear  Grays- 
brook  think  of  such  an  honour?  well,  sir,  I  shall  be 
quite  ready :  but  1  s’pose,  sir,  you’ll  tell  my  lady  and 
dear  Master  Herbert  that  I  am  going.” 

“  0  never  mind  about  that,  leave  that  all  to  me, 
I  shall  arrange  everything and  away  ran  Charles 
quite  pleased  at  having  met  with  so  little  opposition 
to  this  part  of  his  plan.  At  the  time  appointed  old 
Nanny  made  her  appearance  in  her  neat  blue  cloth 
gown  and  old-fashioned  black  silk  bonnet ;  her  long 
black  mittens  were  drawn  tightly  up  to  the  elbows, 
and  in  compliment  to  Charles  she  had  put  on  a 
clear  muslin  apron,  a  relic  of  former  days,  which  be¬ 
came  her  mightily  and  added  much  to  her  singular 
and  picturesque  appearance.  Charles  placed  her  com¬ 
fortably  in  the  carriage  which  he  had  brought  to  tho 
door,  but  having  taken  advantage  of  Lady  Beauchamp’s 


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being  gone  out  with  Kate,  he  had  not  told  any  ono 
of  what  he  called  his  intended  abduction  of  Missf 
Nanny  Meadows.  Having  given  all  needful  instruc¬ 
tions  to  the  man  who  drove  them,  they  now  proceeded 
rapidly  through  the  streets  of  London.  Charles  talked 
kindly  and  pleasantly,  and  pointed  out  to  his  com¬ 
panion  everything  which  he  thought  might  afford  her 
interest  or  amusement.  On,  on  they  went,  and  to  all 
inquiries  as  to  their  destination  he  was  impenetrably 
deaf.  At  last  lie  saw  that  they  were  rapidly  approach¬ 
ing  the  place  to  which  he  was  conducting  her,  and  he 
leant  forward,  and  looking  up  in  Nanny’s  face,  began 
to  talk  rapidly  to  her,  and  diverted  her  attention  till 
the  right  moment  should  arrive  for  the  execution  of  hiiS* 
little  scheme.  At  length  the  carriage  suddenly  stopped. 
“  Now,  Nanny,”  said  Charles,  “  dear  old  woman,  tell  me, 
do  you  know  that  house  ?” 

Nanny  looked,  clasped  her  hands,  and  sank  back, 
uttering  a  feeble  cry ;  for  one  moment  she  was  speech¬ 
less,  and  then  almost  in  a  tone  of  terror  she  said,  “  0, 
sir,  I  cannot  look  upon  that  place,  I  cannot  enter  those 
gates.  0  yes,  yes,  it  is  indeed  my  poor  master’s 
house  !  but  how  could  I  venture  to  see  him,  should  he 
be  living  still,  even  now?  He  would  not,  I  am  sure, 
endure  the  sight  cf  one  that  has  caused  him  so  much 
sorrow.” 

Charles  soothed  and  tranquillised  her  as  best  he 
could,  and  then  gently  handing  her  from  the  carriage, 
he  led  her  round  by  the  back  entrance  to  Mrs.  Fairly’s 
room,  explaining  as  they  went  that  he  would  spare  her 
any  further  pain  for  the  present,  but  that  he  wished  her 
to  sit  half  an  hour  with  a  kind  person  who  would  take 


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281 


care  of  her  till  he  returned.  He  then  left  her  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  having  found  Fairly,  he  gained  her 
permission  to  bring  Nanny  to  sit  in  her  room  while  he 
himself  saw  Mr.  Crosby.  The  po.or  old  woman  had 
scarcely  recovered  the  shock  which  the  sight  of  her 
master’s  home  had  occasioned  her,  and  she  sat  in  silence, 
not  recognising  the  room  into  which  she  had  been 
brought  from  its  having  undergone  considerable  change 
since  she  last  saw  it ;  and  thus,  though  she  knew  she  was 
very  near  the  place  where  she  once  Jiad  lived  so  hap¬ 
pily,  she  did  not  comprehend '  that  she  really  was  under 
the  roof  of  her  “injured  niaster,”  as  she  still  called 
him.  Charles,  having  seen  her  comfortably  settled,  now 
went  in  search  of  Mr.  Crosby,  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  library.  Here  he  found  his  old  friend  busily 
engaged  in  writing  letters.  He  looked  up  when  Charles 
entered,  and  holding  out  his  hand,  said,  “  Ah,  my  dear 
boy,  I  scarcely  thought  you  would  come  so  early,  though 
I  was  glad  to  find  from  your  note  that  you  were  at 
leisure  this  afternoon  ; — but  come,  sit  down,  I  have 
nearly  finished  my  letters,  and  then  I  shall  be  quite 
disengaged.” 

A  few  minutes  of  silent  reflection  enabled  Charles  to 
decide  on  the  course  he  would  pursue.  It  was  evident 
that  his  conjectures  had  been  correct,  and  that  in  his 
dear  good  old  friend  Carlington  would  find  a  father,  but 
he  felt  that  much  caution  must  be  employed  in  announc¬ 
ing  this  joyful  news  to  Mr,  Crosby  lest  the  surprise 
should  prove  too  much  for  his. already  disturbed  mind 
and  feeble  frame.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  the  letters 
were  finished  and  Mr.  Crosby  said  that  “  now  he  was  at 
liberty,”  Charles  drew  his  chair  close  to  his  side  and 


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said,  My  object  in  visiting  you  to-day,  sir,  was  chiefly 
that  I  might  have  a  little  conversation  with  you  about 
niy  dear  sister.” 

“  Ah,  a  very  nice  sweet  girl,  indeed  ;  I  don’t  often 
take  fancies,  but  I  may  tell  you,  Charles,  that  her  good 
and  dutiful  conduct  has  won  my  sincere  admiration  : 
she  is  unlike  most  women,  I  think ;  there  are  but  few 
who  are  worth  one’s'  affection,  I  believe.” 

“  Well,  then,”  said  Charles,  “I  am  sure  you  will  be 
pleased  when  I  tell  you  that  she  will  soon  be  united 
to  the  young  uttm  whom  you  saw  with  her  at  Mrs. 
Marston’s.” 

“  Hey,  what !  married !  what,  to  that  young  man 
with  the  dark  curling  hair  !  Well,  well,  I’m  glad  of  it 
— I  liked  his  face.  Ah  those  eyes  of  his  have  pursued 
my  thoughts  ever  since.  Yes,  yes,  I  shall  feel  an  inte¬ 
rest  in  him — and  what  is  his  name,  Charles?” 

“  His  name  is — CarlingtonP 

At  this  name  Mr.  Crosby  started  and  trembled  vio¬ 
lently,  then  turning  suddenly  he  seized  both  of  Charles’s 
hands,  and  looking  earnestly  in  his  face  said,  “  Young 
man,  take  care  !  you  dare  not  trifle  with  me  ; — what 
mean  you?  You  are  agitated, — speak  I  who^  who  is 
this  dark-eyed  stranger? — my  name,  too,  is  Carlingtonl . 
Can  it,  0  God  !  can  it  be  that  he  whom  *1  so  long  have 
mourned  is  to  be  restored  to  me  ? — Speak,  speak, 
Charles,  and  torture  me  not  with  this  dreadful  sus¬ 
pense  !” 

Charles  knelt  by  his  side  and  gently  supported  him 
while  he  said,  “  Be  calm,  be  firm,  dear  friend,  I  will  not 
deceive  you ; — I  have  much  reason  to  hope  that  this 
happmess  will  be  yours.” 


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283 


“  Mr.  Crosby  spoke  not,  and  so  rigid  were  his  features 
wnd  his  frame  so  still,  that  Charles  felt  alarmed  lest  the 
shock  had  destroyed  him.  After  a  time,  however,  ho 
recovered,  and  was  able  to  listen  to  Charles’s  narrative 
by  which  he  felt  clearly  convinced  that  Carlington  was 
indeed  his  long-lost  son.  In  the  course  of'  their  inter¬ 
esting  conversation  Mr.  Crosby  told  Charles  that  his 
name  originally  was  Carlington,  but  he  said,  “  when  I 
lost  him  who  should  have  inherited  this  name  I  felt  so 
great  a  repugnance  to  hearing  it  that  I  resolved  to  assume 
that  of  my  uncle,  Mr.  Herbert  Crosby,  and  when  I  re¬ 
turned,  after  a  residence  of  ten  years  more  in  the  West 
Indies,  I  was  so  much  altered  that  no  one  recognized  me 
as  Mr.  Carlington,  and  I  have  never  since  resumed  the 
name.”  ^ 

Charles  now  went  to  fetch  old  Nanny,  who,  although/ 
at  first  greatly  alarmed  when  she  was  told  that  her  ma^ 
ter  still  lived  and  wished  to  see  her,  did  not  long  oppose 
Charles’s  request  that  she  would  let  him  conduct  her  to 
his  presence : — and  she  was  soon  made  happy  by  an  affec¬ 
tionate  assurance  that  she  was  quite  forgiven  by  her  re¬ 
spected  master.  Leaving  Nanny  to  tell  her  own  story 
and  to  talk  over  past  events,  Charles — kind-hearted 
Charles — is  gone  on  wings  of  generous  impatience  to 
bring  the  long-lamented  son  to  the  arms  of  his  father. 
Nor  does  one  selfish  thought  or  consideration  check  the 
ardour  of  that  disinterested  mind  when  at  length  he  has 
the  delight  of  witnessing  the  reunion  of  these  friends, 
who  are  both  so  truly  beloved  by  him.  But  we  must 
draw  a  veil  over  the  scene  which  then  took  place,  and 
following  Charles’s  example,  we  will  close  the  door  and 
leave  Herbert  Carlington  alone  with  his  now  too  happy 
father. 


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While  Charles  was  engaged  in  these  interesting  scenes, 
one  of  almost  equal  importance  occurred  at  the  home  of 
his  own  family.  It  was  at  about  the  same  hour  in  which 
he  was  passing  through  the  streets  of  London  with  old 
Nanny  that  Miss  Moffat  in  a  flurry  of  impatience  ascend¬ 
ed  the  stairs  leading  to  the  studio,  on  entering  which  the 
good  lady  appeared  so  agitated  that  Mrs.  Sinclair  said, 
“  I  hope  you  have  brought  us  no  bad  news,  Miss  Moffat.’* 
^  Na,  na,  Maistress  Sinclair,  I’m  no  a  bird  o’  ill  omen, 
forby  I  hope  I’ve  brought  some  varra  gude  news,  thougli 
ye’ll  maybe  hae  some  heart-sair  mingled  wi’  yer  joy.  I 
just  got  the  morn’s  paper  fra  my  cousin,  an  I  was  speer- 
ing  was  there  any  news  whan  I  cam  upo’  this  paragraph 
— and  Miss  Moffat  read  aloud  the  following  sentence : — 
At  Elmsgrove,  in  the  65th  year  of  his  age,  Harry  Sin- 
lair,  Esq.  We  understand  the  family  estates  are  left 
y  will  to  Algernon  Sinclair,  Esq.,  the  half  brother  of  the 
deceased.”  “And,”  said  Miss  Moffat,  “the  Lord  be 
thankit  for  this  an’  all  his  mercies.” 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  resist  the  smile  which 
this  speech  occasioned  ; — yet  this  sudden  announcement 
brought'  back  a  tide  of  early  associations  to  the  heart  of 
Mr.  Sinclair,  and  he  felt  for  a  short  time  some  emotion 
for  which  even  to  himself  he  could  scarcely  account. 
Years  had  elapsed  without  any  sort  of  intercourse 
between  him  and  his  brother,  nor  had  he  at  any  time 
received  from  him  any  marks  of  affection,  still  the  home 
of  his  boyhood  rose  up  before  his  memory,  and  early 
ties  and  habits  were  recalled.  These  feelings  were,  how¬ 
ever,  evanescent,  and  were  soon  overcome,  and  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  he  admitted  the  hope  that 
in  his  last  hours  Mr.  Harry  Sinclair  had  endeavoured  to 


Home  is  home. 


285 


compensate  for  his  long  neglect  of  his  family,  and  he 
returned  to  the  studio,  from  which  he  had  at  first  hastily 
withdrawn,  and  thanking  Miss  Moffat  for  her  kind  inter¬ 
est  in  this  affair,  he  told  her  that  he  should  take  imme¬ 
diate  steps  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  this  newspaper 
report,  and,”  he  added,  “  I  hope,  indeed,  we  may  find 
some  cause  for  thankfulness.” 

“Weel,  weel,”  said  Miss  Moffat,  “I  trust  ye  may 
a’  yet  be  happier  far  than  I  hae  yet  known  ye,  but  I’m 
thinking  ye’ll  a’  maybe  gang  far  awa,  and  in  your  ain 
hame  ye’ll  aibleens  sune  forget  me  an  the  puir  little 
lassie,  little  Maggie.” 

“  No,  no,  indeed,  not  so,  my  dear  Miss  Moffat,  be¬ 
lieve -me,  we  can  none  of  us  ever  forget  your  many  acts 
of  kind  and  delicate  attention  to  us  here,  and  in  future 
years  I  trust  we  shall  number  you  among  our  truest 
friends.” 

‘‘  I  thank  ye  fra  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  Maistress 
Sanclair,  ye  were  always  kind  and  douce  wi’  me,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  ye  a’,  but  0  it  will  be  verra  dull  when 
ye  are  a’  gone,  an  I  sail  miss  ye  sairly ;”  and  here  the 
poor  Scotch  lady  hastily  retreated,  quite  unable  to  con¬ 
ceal  how  much  even  the  thoughts  of  parting  had  grieved 
her  kind  warm  heart.  • 

As  soon  as  Miss  Moffat  had  left  the  room  Mr.  Sin¬ 
clair  exclaimed,  “  Well,  Emily,  this  is  indeed  a  most  im¬ 
portant  event  to  us ;  should  this  account  prove  correct 
we  shall  at  once  be  relieved  from  all  our  sad  embarrass¬ 
ments.  And  now  I  shall  go  immediately  and  find  my  old 
friend  Mr.  Pleydell,  and  get  him  to  aid  me  in  investi¬ 
gating  the  affair ;”  and  after  a  little  discussion  and  pre¬ 
paration  he  set  off  on  his  interesting  errand,  which,  as 


286 


Home  is  iio:€S. 


he  told  Mrs.  Sinclair,  might  probably  detain  him  some 
hours.  The  little  girls  were  gone  to  Lady  Beauchamp’s, 
where  they  now  passed  much  of  their  time,  and  even 
Honor  was  gone  out,  so  that  ere  long  Mrs.  Sinclair  found 
the  house  very  dull  and  lonely,  and  she  quite  longed  for 
some  kind  sympathising  friend  to  whom  she  might  speak 
on  the  exciting  subject  which  now  filled  her  mind  aiid 
thoughts.  So  many  things  to  demand  attention,  and  no 
one  to  advise  with  I  She  sat  down  and  tried  to  find 
amusement  in  her  usual  occupations — but  all  to  no  pur¬ 
pose.  At  last,  taking  the  newspaper  in  her  hand,  she 
determined  to  go  with  it  to  Miss  Moffat’s  apartments, 
and  as  she  went  down  the  long  fiights  of  stairs  she  tried 
to  excuse  to  herself  her  restless  desire  for  some  com¬ 
panion.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  these  refiections  when 
the  sudden  stopping  of  a  carriage,  followed  by  a  loud 
ringing  of  the  door  bell  startled  her,  and  tripping  against 
the  mat  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  stumbled  and  nearly 
fell.  Who  could  it  be? — perhaps  Algernon  himself-— 
and  then  he  might  be  displeased ;  hastily  she  turned, 
and  retracing  her  steps  to  the  first  landing  above,  she 
awaited  the  opening  of  the  door,  when  to  her  great 
delight  she  heard  Kate’s  sweet  voice  address  the  little 
girl,  sayiqg,  “  Well,  little  Maggie,  and  how  are  you,  my 
bonnie  wee  thing,  and  how  is  good  Miss  Moffat  ?” — but 
no  further  could  she  proceed,  for  her  mother  rushed 
towards  her  exclaiming,  0  my  darling  Kate,  I  am  so 
very  glad  that  you  are  here,  I  was  longing  to  see  you, 
for  I  have  such  news  to  tell  you.” 

Kate’s  loving  embrace  and  tender  kisses  evinced  the 
delight  with  which  she  met  her  mother,  and  as  they  as¬ 
cended  the  stairs  in  a  tumult  of  affectionate  pleasure  she 


HOMiJ  IS  HOME. 


2*87 


said,  “  And  I  too,  dearest  mamma,  have  heard  something 
which  will  I  trust  prove  good  for  you  all.” 

A  moment’s  explanation  showed  th|t  each  alluded  to 
the  same  event,  when  Kate  said  she  had  hoped  to  be  the 
first  to  bring  these  good  tidings  to  her  parents,  “  though 
perhaps,  dear  mamma,  I  ought  not  to  consider  it  alto¬ 
gether  a  matter  of  congratulation,  and  dear  papa  might 
think  me  thoughtless.  Does  he  feel  this  event  at  all 
painfully  V\ 

“  No,  my  dear,  I  cannot  suppose  he  does;  it  is  so 
long  since  he  has  seen  Mr.  Harry  Sinclair,  who  ever 
treated  him  with  the  indifference  of  a  stranger,  and  al¬ 
ways  appeared  to  entertain  almost  a  feeling  of  dislike  to¬ 
wards  him,  indeed  so  much  so  that  I  can  scarcely  hope 
that  the  news  which  reached  us  to-day  can  be  true ;  how¬ 
ever,  your  papa  is  gone  to  see  Mr.  Pleydell  and  to  gain 
all  the  information  he  can  on  the  subject.” 

And  now  they  reach  the  studio  rather  tired  and 
breathless  with  talking  so  earnestly  while  mounting  the 
steep  and  many  stairs,  and  as  they  enter  the  room  Kate 
lays  aside  her  little  bonnet,  gives  darling  mamma  ”  one 
more  ‘‘  little  hug,”  and  then  seats  herself  on  Rosy’s  small 
chairclose  by  her  mother’s  side,  who  softly  strokes  her  love¬ 
ly  silken  hair  and  seems  delighted  with  its  even  increased 
luxuriance  and  beauty,  and  then  Kate  takes  her  hand 
and  says,  0,  dearest  mamma,  it  is  so  charming  to  have 
you  all  to  myself  for  an  hour  or  two  I  and  I  don’t  think 
we  shall  be  interrupted,  for  papa  cannot  I  am  sure  return 
for  a  long  time.  I  only  hope  this  intelligence  will  prove 
correct,  and  then,  only  think,  you  will  all  be  removed 
from  these  gloomy  rooms,  and  ere  long  you  will  I  trust 
be  enjoying  freedom  and  fresh  air  ah  Elmsgrove,  which  is 


288 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


I  hear  a  lovely  place.  0  will  it  not  be  charming,  dear¬ 
est  mother,  once  more  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  coun* 
try?” 

“  It  will  indeed,  dear  Kate,  be  a  great  delight  to  ex¬ 
change  these  close  streets  for  the  pure  air  of  the  coun¬ 
try  ;  but  I  should  be  ungrateful  if  I  did  not  confess  that 
God  has  been  very  gracious  to  us  in  our  misfortunes, 
and  that  even  here  in  these  apparently  dull  and  lonely 
rooms  I  have  passed  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my 
life :  and  I  can  truly  say,  ^  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adver¬ 
sity.*  Your  father  and  I  have  been  compelled  to  use 
our  talents  for  the  maintenance  of  our  family,  and  we 
have  found  the  path  of  active  duty  more  pleasant,  yes, 
and  more  truly  happy,  than  the  idle,  useless  one  which, 
for  sonic  years,  we  had  been  pursuing.  Your  father  has 
been  so  kind  and  considerate,  that  I  have  never  missed 
or  regretted  the  absence  of  all  other  companions.** 

“  Dear,  dear  mother,  your  sweet,  contented  spirit  is 
indeed  to  you  a  gem  beyond  all  price ;  but  I  can  assure 
you  that  often  when  I  have  been  sitting  beneath  the 
beautiful  trees  at  Granby,  I  have  shed  tears  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  imprisonment  to  which  you  and  all  my 
dear  ones  were  subjected  while  I  was  surrounded  by  lux¬ 
ury.*’ 

“  Yes,  dearest  Kate,  I  doubt  not  that  such  were  your 
feelings ;  but  consider,  my  child,  how  liiuch  you  have 
ameliorated  our  difficulties  by  your  generous  exertions, 
and  how  much  have  we  been  comforted  in  our  troubles 
by  the  affectionate  and  considerate  conduct  of  yourself 
and  our  other  dear  children.  Never,  I  assure  you,  dear¬ 
est  Kate,  shall  I  regret  the  adversity  which  has  thus 
taught  us  the  value  of  our  mutual  affection  and  sympa- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


289 


thy  ;  and  I  trust  we  have  all  learned  a  lesson  which,  in 
future  years,  will  never  lose  its  influence  on  our  lives. 
But  now,  dear  girl,  there  is  one  subject  which  I  confess 
rather  distresses  me.  What  if  this  intelligence  of  his 
half-brother’s  death  should  induce  your  father  to  wish  to 
postpone  your  marriage  ? — it  may  be  so,  and  I  should 
greatly  regret  causing  you  both  so  painful  a  trial.” 

“  0,  dearest  mother  !  do  not,  I  beg  you  will  not.suflcr 
such  a  thought  to  distress  you.  Even  should  such  delay 
be  thought  advisable,  how  thankfully  should  we  submit 
to  it,  even  for  any  length  of  time,  if  we  can  only  find  that 
you  are  all  relieved  from  your  painful  difi&culties.  Do 
not  think  of  us,  dearest  mother ; — we  are  young,  and 
happy  in  each  other’s  sincere  affection.  Only  let  us  see 
you  all  in  your  proper  places,  and  no  trial  will  be  pain¬ 
ful.” 

Kate  walked  to  the  casement^  window  as  she  spoke, 
and  looked  down  upon  the  long  range  of  red-tiled  houses, 
with  their  stacks  of  heavy,  smoking  chimneys,  and  oc¬ 
casional  glaring  skylights,  all  now  glowing  in  the  hazy, 
dancing  heat  of  a  J uly  afternoon  sun ;  and  as  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  delicious  scenes  at  Granby, 
with  their  cool  and  pleasant  shades,  her  tears  fell  fast  as 
she  considered  that  during  all  the  heat  of  that  hot  sum¬ 
mer,  from  day  to  day  no  other  view  than  that  on  which 
she  now  gazed  had  met  the  eye  of  any  of  the  dear  in¬ 
mates  of  that  strange  old  apartment.  Her  mother  guessed 
her  sad  thoughts,  and  taking  her  hand,  said,  “  Cheer  up, 
my  dearest  girl.  To  you  this  must  appear  almost  a  prison  ; 
but  I  can  assure  you  that  we  have  had  no  leisure  to  feel 
dull ;  our  time  has  been  so  much  and  so  pleasantly  occu¬ 
pied  that  all  external  objects  have  ceased  to  interest  us ; 

13 


290 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


and  when  we  have  really  required  recreation ,  we  have 
always  found  it  in  our  favourite  pursuits  of  music,  read¬ 
ing  and  chess ;  nor  have  we  ever  found  our  time  hang 
heavily  upon  our  hands — proving,  you  know,  dear  Kate, 
that  ‘  Home  is  Home.^  ” 

Dearest  mother,’^  said  Kate,  “  I  trust  in  future 
years  I  shall  prove  that  I  have  indeed  profited  from  your 
bright  example ;  but  come,”  she  said,  “  I  really  want  to 
consult  you  on  some  subjects  of  importance,  and  we  must 
not  lose  this  opportunity.” 

Long  and  earnestly  did  the  mother  and  daughter  now 
converse  on  the  bright  prospects  which  were  opening  be¬ 
fore  them,  and  Kate  told  her  mother  many  circumstances 
which  were  qualified  to  raise  the  lover  in  the  estimation 
of  this  truly  excellent  parent.  At  about  five  o’clock  Mr. 
Sinclair  returned  full  of  pleasant  intelligence;  he  had 
seen  Mr.  Pleydell  and  found  him  already  apprised  of  the 
circumstances  of  Mr.  H.  Sinclair’s  death,  and  he  had 
told  him  that  there  was,  he  believed,  no  shadow  of  doubt 
that  the  estates  would  be  his,  and  if  all  turned  out  well 
they  might  in  a  month  be  settled  at  Elmsgrove,  and  that 
Mr.  Pleydell  intended  to  start  that  evening  for  that  place, 
in  order  to  make  all  necessary  enquiries  and  arrange¬ 
ments.  After  a  little  more  chat,  Kate  put  on  her  bon¬ 
net  and  prepared  to  return  to  - Square,  but  then 

came  the  question,  “  whether  dear  Kate  should  postpone 
her  marriage  for  a  time?”  and  then  papa  kissed  his  dar¬ 
ling  girl,  and  told  her  he  though  he  must  leave  that  to 
the  decision  of  her  kind  friends.  At  this  moment  Hon¬ 
or  appeared  at  the  door,  and  told  Kate  that  the  carriage 
was  arrived  to  take  her  back.  Kate  hid  her  blushing 
face  on  papa’s  shoulder  while  she  bade  him  farewell,  and 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


291 


then  taking  leave  of  her  mother,  followed  Honor  down 
stairs.  On  reaching  the  first  landing  Honor  said,  “  Och 
thin,  me  dare  Miss  Kate,  will  ye  grant  me  a  moment  of 
yer  precious  time,  for  shure  IVe  something  pertickler  to 
to  toll  ye  and  turning  into  a  vacant  room  she  petition¬ 
ed  Ka'e  to  follow  her. 

“Well,  Honor,  I  fear  you  must  not  detain  me  long, 
but  I  can  wait  a  few  moments ;  what  is  it  ?  are  you  going 
to  be  married  soon 

“  Och,  Miss  Kate,  shure  ye  know  I  will  not  lave  my 
dear  lady  at  such  a  time, — no,  no.  Miss,  but  IVe  a  story 
to  tell  ye. — I  was  sint  out  just  now  to  some  distance 
from  here,  and  just  as  I  was  coming  home  rather 
late,  bad  luck  to  me,  when  I  came  all  at  once  upon  a 
little  woman  in  black,  and  she  standing  looking  ear¬ 
nestly  upon  a  bunch  of  black  and  white  stockings, 
hung  out  upon  a  door  like  sausages,  and  so  she  pulled 
out  one  and  another  to  see  what  was  the  marks  of  price 
put  upon  ’em,  mighty  busy  was  she  no  doubt ;  well  I 
knowed  her  directly,  and  stepping  up  behind  her  I  says, 
‘  An  how  are  ye  Mrs.  I  forgit’s  yer  name.’  ‘  Bundy’s 
my  name,’  she  says,  ‘but  I  don’t  know  ye,’  she  says. 
‘  Och  thin,’  says  I,  ‘  shure  I’ll  niver  forgit  you^  for  ain’t 
you  the  good  woman  that  the  kind  gentleman  sent  wi’  all 
the  good  things  to  our  house  ?’  ‘  ’Deed  then  ye  says 

thrue,’  says  she,  ‘  but  these  good  deeds  is  always  beknown 
at  last,  and  he  is  the  kindest  of  men,’  she  says.  ‘  Ah 
now,’  says  I,  ‘  I  shall  always  love  to  think  of  him  and 
pray  for  him  all  the  days  of  my  life,  for  I  am  shure  he 
is  a  good  man,  but  where  will  he  be  living?’  says  1. 

‘  Och,’  she  says,  mighty  innocent-like,  ‘  Mr.  Crosby  has 
always  lived  ip  the  same  house  ever  since  I  knowed  him, 


292 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


and  that’s  fifteen  years.  My  husband  die^  on  board  the 
vessel  as  brought  Mr.  Crosby  home  from  the  West  In¬ 
dies,  and  I  was  left  a  widow  wi’  six  little  children,  and 
when  he  came  to  England  he  found  me  out  and  put  me 
on  in  my  business  and  helped  me  to  maintain  my  family ; 
I  keep  a  little  broker’s  shop,  and  I  assure  you,’  she  says, 
‘  I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay  the  kindness  of  that  dear 
gentleman ; — but  now  do  tell  me  how  ever  you  found 
out  as  he  sent  them  things,  for  I  niver  breathed  a  word 
of  it  in  my  life — I  could  swear  I  niver  have,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  will  be  very  angry  if  he  knows  it  has  come  out 
like — so  I  told  her.  Miss  Kate,  she  might  depind  on 
me  for  secresy,  and  thin.  Miss,  I  was  in  such  a  hurry  to 
get  home  that  I  ran  off  like  a  lapwing.” 

‘‘  Now,  Honor,”  said  Kate,  “  I  do  not  think  you  were 
quite  right  to  get  this  poor  woman’s  secret  from'  her  in 
this  way,  and  for  the  present  remember  I  wish  you  not 
to  repeat  it,  as  I  am  sure  it  will  do  mischief ;  still  a 
time  may  come  when  I  may  be  glad  of  this  informa¬ 
tion.” 

“  Och  thin,  my  darling  Miss  Kate,  shure  an’  you 
won’t  go  to  bo  angered  wid  me ;  och  I  wish  I  could  put 
back  the  secret  into  Mrs.  Bundy  agin,  but  that’s  impos¬ 
sible  ;  however.  I’ll  not  make  no  mischief,  niver  I  pro¬ 
mise  ;  so  now  pray  don’t  look  so  sarious  like,  my  dear 
young  lady.” 

“  Well,  well,  my  good  Honor,  I  am  sure  you  did  not 
mean  any  wrong,  but  another  time  you  must  be  more 
careful.” 

“  Och  thin  I  will,  and  blessings  on  yer  swate  self, 
that  always  knows  what  is  right  better  than  such  an 
ignorant  girl  as  mcself,  bad  cess  to  my  fooli^  tongue, 


HOME  IS  KOM5> 


293 


an’  God  bless  ye,  Miss  ;  and  will  I  be  thrubbling  ye  to 
beg  ye  to  thank  kind  Mr.  Cowlton  for  his  beautiful  pre^ 
sent  to  poor  Kory?” 

And  now  Kate  bids  poor  Honor  good-bye  with  much 
kindness,  and  as  she  stands  on  the  steps  to  look  after 
the  carriage  she  receives  a  kindly  smiling  look  from  her 
dear  young  lady,  and  retires  to  weep  over  the  little  fault 
which  had  been  rebuked  with  so  much  gentleness. 

When  Kate  reached  home  she  hastily  retired  to 
her  room,  and  whilst  dressing  for  dinner  her  thoughts 
dwelt  much  on  all  the  interesting  intelligence  which  she 
**  ■  had  just  received  ;  and  she  felt  her  curiosity  most  highly 

excited  as  to  the  motives  which  could  have  induced  Mr. 
Crosby  to  show  so  much  kind  consideration  to  such  per¬ 
fect  strangers ;  she  was  anxious  too  to  know  what  steps 
she  had  better  take,  as  she  felt  sure  her  father  would 
not  like  to  remain  under  obligations  to  this  extraor¬ 
dinary  person ;  and  at  last  she  resolved  to  consult  Car- 
lington ;  no  doubt  he  would  dine  at  Sir  Edmund’s,  and 
after  dinner  she  would  tell  him  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case ;  but  on  entering  the  drawing-room  she  found 
only  Lady  Beauchamp  there,  who  said,  ‘‘  Have  you  seen 
Mr.  Carlington  to-daj^,  Kate?  I  thought  he  was  proba¬ 
bly  with  you  as  he  has  not  been  here.” 

But  Kate  had  mot  seen  him,  nor  did  he  arrive  all  the 
evening,  and  both  she  and  her  kind  friend  felt  much 
disappointed. 

The  next  morning  was  one  of  exciting  interest  to  all 
the  party  at  Sir  Edmund  Beauchamp’s  ;  soon  after  break¬ 
fast  Carlington  appeared,  and  with  much  emotion  he 
disclosed  to  Kate  the  happy  and  interesting  discovery 
which  through  the  intervention  of  her  brother  had  been 


294 


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efiFected  on  the  preceding  day,  and  great  indev  d  was  her 
astonishment  at  learning  that  the  strange  eccentric  Mr. 
Crosby  was  the  father  of  her  beloved  Carlington.  She 
listened  with  breathless  attention  while  he  detailed  to 
her  all  the  circumstances  of  their  first  meeting,  and 
deeply  and  tenderly  did  she  sympathise  in  his  happiness, 
and  as  she  put  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  she  confided  to 
him  the  secret  reason  of  her  interest  in  the  person  whom 
he  had  just  disSovered  was  his  long  lost  father ;  she  told 
him  of  his  many  acts  of  kindness  and  benevolence  to¬ 
wards  her  family,  and  also  of  the  diflSculty  they  had 
found  in  discovering  who  had  thus  from  time  to  time 
contributed  to  their  comfort ;  and  then  she  told  him  of 
the  little  artifice  by  which  Honor  had  beguiled  the  poor 
widow  into  betraying  the  secret  of  her  kind  patron^  and 
also  how  penitent  poor  Honor  had  been  when  convinced 
th^t  she  had  been  culpable  in  this  affair ;  and  she  added, 
“  really,  dear  Herbert,  it  seems  as  if  your  father  had 
been  providentially  guided  in  the  interest  which  he  has 
felt  towards  my  family.** 

“  My  dearest  Kate,**  said  Carlington,  “  depend  upon 
it  we  can  never  err  in  attributing  to  an  overruling  Provi¬ 
dence  all  the  events  however  trivial  they  may  appear  by 
which  our  welfare  and  our  happiness  can  be  affected,  and 
I  am  truly  thankful  to  find  that  my  dear  father  fully 
recognises  this  truth ;  he  has  already  most  affectingly 
acknowledged  his  sense  of  the  wisdom  and  mercy  of  J)hat 
dispensation  by  which  he  has  thus  for  so  many  years  been 
deprived  of  the  idol  of  his  heart.  I  trust,  my  dear 
Kate,  his  future  life  will  now  be  fraught  with  happiness, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  gladly  aid  me  in  soothing  and 
cheering  his  declining  age,  while  I  sincerely  hope  jour 


HOMK  IS  HOMF 


295 


dear  brother  will  continue  to  fill  the  j^acc-of  an  adopted 
son ;  I  you  know  am  more  than  ampjy  provided  with 
the  gifts  of  fortune,  and  I  trust  my  father  will  act 
towards  Charles  as  he  tells  me  he  intended  to  have  done 
had  we  never  met  again.’* 

But  now  this  interesting  tete-a-tete  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Lady  Beauchamp,  who  came  to  offer 
her  sympathizing  congratulations,  and  then  Carlington 
was  dispatched  to  bring  perforce  his  dear  father  to  join 
the  anxiously  expecting  group  of  friends  who  would  as¬ 
semble  to  await  his  arrival :  but  when  after  an  hour  or 
two  of  interesting  conversation  the  kind-hearted  old 
gentleman  rose  and  coming  to  Kate  took  her  lijtle  hand, 
and  placed  it  in  that  of  his  son  Herbert  and  pronounced 
a  fervent  “  God  bless  you,  my  children,”  and  then  at¬ 
tempted  a  smile  but  only  achieved  a  tear,  why  it  was 
plain  that  sweet  Kate  had  found  a  father  too,  and  her 
olushing  tearful  smiling  young  face  spoke  more  plainly 
than  any  words  that  her  heart  then  promised  that,  she 
would  indeed  be  unto  him  a  loving  daughter. 

It  wauld  be  fruitless  to  attempt  to  describe  all  the 
scenes  of  interest  and  affection  which  now  occurred  in 
consequence  of  the  late  happy  event ;  but  it  will  perhaps 
be  as  well  to  state  that  poor  old  Nanny  Meadows  was 
taken  into  the  house  of  Mr.  Crosby  and  placed  under  the 
kind  care  of  good  Mrs.  Fairly,  in  whom  she  found  a  most 
faithful  friend,  nor  did  she  at  all  dislike  the  occasional 
visits  -of  Mrs.  Flitters,  who  appeared  to  her  bewildered 
imagination  as  one  of  a  quite  new  species  of  housekeeper, 
and  who  was  to  be  sure  “  a  wonderful  nice  lady,  but  not 
a  bit  like  a  servant  to  my  thinking  but  then  adds  old 
Nanny,  “  I  am  but  a  very  old  fashioned  person  you  know^ 
Mrs.  Fairly.” 


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The  fifth  of  August  was  now  rapidlj  approaching,  and 
every  needful  arrangement  and  preparation  had  been 
made  on  a  most  liberal  scale,  though  in  consequence  of 
her  peculiar  circumstances  Kate  had  petitioned  that  no 
undue  ostentation  or  display  should  mark  the  celebration 
of  her  marriage ;  her  own  two  little  sisters  with  Lady 
Beauchamp’s  three  little  girls  were  to  be  the  attendants 
of  the  bride,  and  greatly  was  little  Alice  delighted  when 
her  physician  consented  to  her  taking  her  place  among 
the  youthful  bridesmaids.  This  little  girl  was  fast  re¬ 
covering  from  the  effects  of  her  accident,  and  had  for 
some  time  been  permitted  to  leave  her  recumbent  position, 
and  there  appeared  every  reason  to  hope  that  her  recovery 
would  be  complete  in  a  few  more  months,  and  already  the 
tinge  of  health  had  revisited  her  cheek.  Kate’s  gentle 
but  firm  management  had  been  of  great  service  to  her, 
and  had  rendered  her  so  docile  and  amenable  to  authori¬ 
ty,  that  her  restoration  to  health  had  been  greatly  accel¬ 
erated,  while  her  affection  for  Acr  ^ind  and  judicious  in¬ 
structress  knew  no  bounds,  and  much  as  she,  in  common 
with  all  her  family,  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  happiness 
which  Kate’s  marriage  would  ensure  to  her,  yet  the 
thought  that  they  should  so  soon  lose  her  from  the  do¬ 
mestic  circle  filled  her  young  heart  with  sorrow  ;  it  was 
however  with  much  satisfaction  that  Lady  Beauchamp 
found  that  Miss  Hartop  was  desirous  to  leave  London, 
and  if  possible  to  reside  in  the  country,  and  would  gladly 
accept  the  situation  which  Kate’s  marriage  would  leave 
vacant,  so  that  it  was  soon  arranged  that  she  should  re¬ 
turn  with  them  at  the  end  of  August  to  Granby  Hall. 

And  now  who  is  there  amongst  our  readers  who 
>culd  not  fill  up  from  memory  the  scene  which  a  wed- 


HOME  IS  HOME. 


2fr 

ding  morn  presents;  the  gentle,  trembling,  blushing 
bride — the  affectionate,  playful  greetings  of  the  pretty 
bridesmaids,  each  in  her  simple  dress  of  white,  conveying 
a  lovely  bouquet  of  summer’s  most  fragrant  flowers — the 
last  fond,  fond  embrace  of  the  mother,  whose  proud 
though  agitated  heart  beats  almost  to  bursting  as  she 
restrains  the  unbidden  tear  which  would  sadden  her  dar¬ 
ling’s  bridal  morn ;  then  the  gathering  round  the  holy 
altar,  and  the  solemn  pledges  there  offered — ^the  prom¬ 
ises  of  years  of  future  love,  and  mutual  forbearance  and 
assistance ;  and  then  the  feast  prepared  by  loving  hands, 
the  grateful  scent  of  fruits  and  flowers,  the  parting  bless¬ 
ing  from  beloved  friends  and  parents ;  and  lastly,  the 
breathless  speed  which  conveys  from  her  home  the  loved 
and  loving  one  for  whom  all  hearts  are  breathing  fervent 
prayers  of  fond  affection.  In  scenes  like  this  the  morn¬ 
ing  of  the  fifth  of  August  passed  away — and  Kate  Sin¬ 
clair  became  the  happy  bride  of  the  good  and  genorouji 
Herbert  Carlington. 


CONCLUDING  CHAPTEE 


It  was  a  few  days  after  Kate’s  marriage  had  taken  place 
that  Honor  and  her  faithful  Rory  once  more  took  their 
evening  walk  together,  and  as  the  affectionate  girl  expa^ 
tiated  on  the  loss  she  had  sustained  in  “  swate  Miss 
Kate,”  Rory  replied,  “  Arrah  now,  Honor,  me  darlint, 
shure  you’ll  be  wanting  a  friend  more  nor  iver.  Come, 
say  the  word,  an’  let  me  be  getting  the  purty  little  ring; 
and  shure  won’t  we  be  as  happy  as  Miss  Kate  herself.” 
And  then  Honor  blushingly  admits  that  “  Shure  the 
masther  is  come  into  his  property,  and  he  will  soon  go 
and  take  possession  of  it ;  and  thin  why  they  will  not  be 
in  thrubble and  in  short,  Rory  says,  Hurra,  mavour- 
neen  ;  you  will  be  my  own  swate  little  wife  at  last,  and 
all  the  dearer  for  your  love  and  constancy  to  the  family 
as  purtected  ye,  machree,  when  ye  wor  a  poor  orphan.” 

And  now  it  only  remains  to  state  that  Mr.  Sinclair 
and  his  family  soon  afterwards  removed  to  Elmsgrove. 
The  parting  between  them  and  poor  Miss  Moffat  was  a 
painful  effort,  and  the  children  wept  sorely  when  they 
took  leave  of  their  favourite  little  Maggie ;  but  as  kind 
Miss  Moffatt  said,  “  Eh,  but  siccan  tears  as*»mine  must 
aye  be  unco  selfish  I’m  thinking;  and,  Maggie,  hinny, 
we  must  strive  to  rejoice  in  the  weel  doing  of  these  kind 
Criends.’*  And  poor  Miss  Moffat  sought  to  allay  her 


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299 


own  sorrow  by  ministering  to  the  comfort  of  her  little 
foster  child,  who  was  in  future  years  to  be  her  only  com¬ 
panion;  and  Maggie  in  her  turn  endeavoured  by  affec¬ 
tionate  gratitude  to  repay  the  kind  care  which  Miss 
Moffat  so  lavishly  bestowed. 

Rory  and  his  faithful  Honor  were  united  a  few  days 
before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  left  London,  and  to  their 
great  delight  they  learnt  that  Mr.  Herbert  Carlington 
had  decided  on  receiving  them  into  his  service  as  soon 
as  he  took  possession  of  his  living  at  Granby,  now 
vacant  by  the  death  of  the  good  old  Dr.  Elliott,  and 
where  Carlington  had  already  commenced  building  a 
handsome  rectory  house,  in  the  hope  that  in  future 
years  his  dear  father  would  come  and  occupy  the  one 
in  which  for  so  many  years  Dr.  Elliott  had  resided ; 
to  this  arrangement  his  father  joyously  acceded,  and 
many,  many  happy  years  were  added  to  the  life  of  the 
kind  and  now  gentle  Mr.  Crosby.  Charles  was  now 
his  constant  companion,  and  was  considered  as  his 
adopted  son. 

The  Sinclairs,  relieved  from  all  the  embarrassments 
and  trials  by  which  adverse  circumstances  had  sur¬ 
rounded  them,  passed  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in 
that  sweet  peace  and  tranquillity  which  emanates  from 
the^  faithful  discharge  of  appointed  duties,  and  in  the 
recollection  of  their  past  sorrows  they  ever  remcm. 
bered  with  gratitude  the  comfort  which  they  had  do 
rived  from  the  dutiful  and  loving  conduct  of  theii 
children. 

THB  EVD. 


I 


